


Idiocy

by Blankfreeze1958



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28881519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blankfreeze1958/pseuds/Blankfreeze1958
Summary: Basically melancholic porn, I think
Relationships: Scott Moir/Tessa Virtue
Comments: 61
Kudos: 86





	1. December 2019

They’re on set, a segment for a Toronto morning news program, and Scott thinks to himself that he should feel lucky to be here. He's not totally sure _why_ they are but here they are.  And there _she_ is, smiling so easily at him like there’s nothing wrong at all. And maybe there isn’t but it sure feels like there is. 

“Cece invited me to make a speech at the wedding.” She says when they’re backstage, gathering their things. 

Tessa pulls her phone out of her purse, checking it before smiling _that_ smile and shoving it back in before turning to him. “I don’t think she wanted me to tell you so it would be a surprise but… I thought you’d want to know.” 

He winces at all of it. Everything. “What are you going to say?” He asks, pretending to care enough about his own life to check his phone. He has no notifications anyway. 

“I don’t know.” She says, shrugging. “What do want me to say?” 

He swallows hard as he looks at her, white knuckling his phone. He shakes his head in a jerky, disjointed movement. “I don’t… know.” He manages, and he watches the way her face changes, the understanding that washes over her. 

“I don’t have to.” She says. “It’s your wedding, it should be _your_ choice.” 

He shakes his head again. “Maybe it would be weird if you didn’t.” 

Tessa laughs slightly. “I don’t know what would be weirder.” 

Scott smiles softly. “I’m scared, T.” 

She steps closer, runs a hand down his arm. It’s been ten weeks since he’s last seen her but it feels like she’s never left.  “What are you scared about?” She asks. 

He chews his lip, studies her face, smiles at her freckles. “I don’t know. I’m just being an idiot, I think.” 

“You’re not an idiot, Scott.” She tells him, rolling her eyes. 

“Are you… do you want to get lunch?” He asks. 

“No.” She says, shaking her head. “But you can come home with me.” 

He presses his lips together into a tight line and shuts his eyes, letting out a slow breath before nodding. 

She takes his hand and he allows her to lead him.  She’s younger than him. She’ll _always_ be two years younger than him, but she’s always been the one in charge, even when they were children.

She gets the uber and he doesn’t let go of her hand the entire ride.  She puts a kettle on when they get inside, and it’s new. He wants to ask her what happened to the old one but can’t bring himself to formulate the words. He can’t really do anything right now but sit there sideways on one of her kitchen chairs, his back against the wall. 

She’s leaning against the counter, her eyes fixed on him, her head tilted slightly like she’s _pondering_ him. 

When the kettle finally goes off, she removes it from the heat and shuts the burner off, and he half expects her to pour it this time, to draw this out because he thinks maybe she _enjoys_ drawing it out, drawing the misery out of him. But he knows deep down that’s not true, and she doesn’t reach for the mugs because she never does. 

She walks to him, sinks to her knees and runs her hands up his thighs.

He watches her, his expression unchanged, more aware of the perpetual lump in his throat than usual. 

He sees her look away for an instant and he knows she understands, but she doesn’t speak on it. She unbuttons his jeans and he lifts his hips to help her rid him of them and then his boxers, pooled around his ankles. 

“I thought you were all about the boxer briefs now.” She says, half joking and half genuinely observing the change, and he finds it sickening the way his heart leaps at the fact that she’s noticed. 

“Laundry day.” He says gruffly and she nods, keeping her eyes locked on his while she runs her hands up and down his thighs. His body is hers as much as it’s his and she knows it. He likes the way her eyeliner is winged today. It makes her eyes look darker, and when she leans forward, her hands braced on his thighs, and he stills her with his hands on her cheeks, it makes the fire in them burn brighter with the contrast around them. It reminds him of the makeup she would wear in competition. And the fire, that burning green, has always remained constant. He thinks it always will. 

“You first.” He says, though he’s already hard. It doesn’t take much with her, it never has. He’s been hard since she told him he could come over. 

He strokes a thumb over her cheek tenderly and she withdraws as if he’s burned her and stands, turning so he can unzip her dress, which he does with practiced ease. He’s been unzipping her much of his life. 

It falls from her body a little too quickly, and he rakes his fingers down her back, leaving a trail of red skin in their wake, like she’s his zen garden and he’s drawing tracks in her to calm his mind. 

She stands there, facing away from him as he reaches her panties, tracing the curve of her ass.She’s in black lace to match her bra, and he’s just so glad they’re not _white,_ so glad that they’re literally the farthest thing from _white_ that he allows himself a slight smile as he stands up and presses himself against her back, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his face into the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of her shampoo and perfume. He nuzzles against her, his eyes closed and kisses her there softly. 

“Scott.” She whispers. It’s a warning and he knows. They have rules and she respects his, so he’ll respect hers. She doesn’t like tenderness. 

“Yeah.” He acknowledges in a whisper, releasing her waist and stepping back, placing a hand on her shoulder. 

She turns to face him and he sees that fire again. 

He sinks to his knees and she watches him, his hands on her thighs, fingers splayed, touching as much of her as he can. She’s here. She’s _here_ and he’s the only one she’s with right now. It’s just the two of them. 

And then at once he lifts up onto his knees and buries his nose against her lace covered cunt, shutting his eyes and pressing his forehead against her lower abdominals. They’re as hard as they’ve ever been but her skin is soft as ever. 

He lets out something between a sigh and a sob and presses even closer. His nose brushes her clit and it’s unintentional but it causes her to clutch at his hair and he rejoices at the familiar feeling. 

He angles his head so that he can suck on that spot for her, hoping she’ll pull his hair a bit, and she does because he knows her and he knows just where she wants him. 

He can taste her through the lace and it makes his cock twitch. She tastes like she always has, like something he’ll never be able to call by any other name than _Tessa,_ and it’s fucking delicious and infuriatingly provocative. 

He sucks her clit through the fabric and rolls his head slightly side to side, his eyes still shut tightly, her hands still pulling on his hair and, when he releases her and pulls back, that fire still in her eyes, he sits back on his calves and hooks his fingers in the waistband of the lace, dragging it away from her centre. 

He pushes her legs apart, opening her for himself and she allows it, lets him see all of her. She has nothing to hide, nothing to be shy or reserved about. He’s seen every part of her there is to see. He’s touched every square millimetre of her body. 

He drinks all of her in, his complete focus directed to her, she has all of him, always. 

He slides a hand up her thigh - _not_ tenderly - and he draws it down her slit, watching her eyes close shut, that fire hidden behind her eyelids for a moment. And without their heat on him he can let his own expression morph into a reflection of what he’s feeling inside - what he’s been feeling for ages, the excruciating pain of feeling like he’s disappearing quietly. 

He presses himself back up, not wanting her to open her eyes yet, not wanting her to see him like this. He thinks that would be one of her rules if she had the heart to say it - that she doesn’t want to see him this way, but she doesn’t because she’s Tessa and she won’t do that to him, won’t acknowledge his piteous disposition because she thinks it embarrasses him or because she thinks maybe he doesn’t know that he looks like that. Or maybe because it embarrasses her or makes her feel guilty. Whatever it may be, he knows he’s pathetic but she’ll never say it. 

She lets out a small whimper as he circles the most sensitive part of her with his tongue. And then he laps at her until her thighs are shaking before taking her into his mouth and sucking once more. 

She’s soaking wet and desperate now and he knows, he knows _so well_ how to make her come, and he _knows_ she wants something inside of her. 

He remembers her describing how it feels to have _him_ inside, how it makes her feel _full_ and _whole_ and _like she’s not alone._ She’d actually said those words to him once, actually said _like she’s not alone._ It’s a question he hadn’t been brave enough to ask her then and one he won’t ask her now out of courtesy, and for his own mental well-being - if she feels alone now because she doesn’t have him to fill her. If it’s only _he_ that can fill her the way she needs. And if so, why she wants to feel alone. 

She lets him finger her still, but he withholds this today, partly out of spite. He’s not proud of it but he wants her to _ask_ him for it. If she’d only just _ask_ he’d do it, and she knows it. She knows how much he _wants_ to do it and it’s partly out of that same spite that _she_ doesn’t ask, even if it comes as a greater loss to her. She’s always been the stubborn one.  
So he does what he can without fingering her, gripping her thighs and pressing his lips to her, sucking and licking and drawing everything he can from her until she finally surrenders to him the way she’s settled for. He can feel her fluttering inside while he licks her clean, can feel the way her muscles clench and release and throb around the nothingness she’s resigned herself to. The sentiment makes him feel dead inside but the physical feeling and the _knowing,_ the _knowing_ what it’s like to be inside of her when she does _that_ makes his cock leak freely and he realises for the first time how painfully hard he is for her. 

She braces her hands on his shoulders when she’s had enough, and he presses his nose against her one final time, taking in all of her that he can. He’s getting married in a week and he knows he won’t see her again before then. He won’t see her until after the honeymoon. The thought makes his stomach flip. They’d been apart for far longer intervals than that, but there’s something about this time that makes him nervous. Like maybe she won’t want him anymore once he’s married. Like maybe they won't do this anymore.

She pats his shoulders and he finally works up the courage to release her. He’d stay on his knees on her hard marble floor for her for ages if she’d let him. 

“Sit.” She says, her voice hoarse, and he complies, pushing himself up off his sore knees and settling back in her kitchen chair. 

She moves to get on her knees, but he reaches for her. 

“Tess.” He says, voice broken, mouth still glistening with her. 

She looks at him for a moment before nodding, just a slight bow of her head. She understands him. She understands what he needs.

She climbs onto him and presses her pussy to his cock and he watches as she cups her hand around the back of it, pressing it deeper, more firmly to her slit. He shuts his eyes and grunts and feels her shudder. 

He wants to kiss her, to taste her there too, but he refrains. It’s not so much a rule but they he thinks it’s rather a way to keep this as it is - feeling more like a therapy exercise or a comfort as opposed to anything that might be seen as even remotely romantic. 

Without even opening his eyes, he reaches around her back and unclasps her bra, opening them when he feels her release him to see her shrugging it off and dropping it beside them. He looks at her, something between affection and nostalgia and rests his four fingers on the swell of her breast, his thumb on the crease where it meets her chest. She’s always so warm here. He feels her heart beating but doesn’t linger, doesn’t want her to think he’s trying to sync it with his - it’s another rule. It’s too close, too _them._ So he ducks his head and runs his tongue lazily across her nipple as she returns her hand to his dick and rolls her hips against him, slicking his shaft with her cunt and spreading his precum over his tip with her hand. 

He moans around her nipple and feels her press harder against him, squeezing her hand the way she knows drives him crazy, working him surely because she knows exactly what he wants. 

But it surprises him when she teases the tip of him inside of her. It’s just a brief moment, and she just barely slips him in - he’d think it were an accident if the angle hadn’t made the movement so clearly intentional. 

He gasps and shudders and throws his head back against the wall, rolling his hips up into her hand. 

She’s soaked and hot and it feels so _good._

He looks up at her face, flushed and yet composed but something in her expression gives and he can tell she _wants._ She wants just like he does. Sometimes it’s hard for him to believe, that Tessa Virtue doesn’t just _have._ Because that’s what she seems like to him. She seems like someone who has everything. But no. He can read her. She _wants._ Just like he does. 

To tell the truth that thought makes him harder. To know that she’s real and she’s here and she’s still the Tessa he’s always known. She’s human just like he is and she still fucking hurts and wants and dreams _just like he does_.

She whines softly and looks down between them where his cock is, watching the way she’s resisting him, the way her hand trembles around him. 

“You can.” He says lowly, swallowing thickly. “I want you to.” 

She meets his eyes, her mouth parted and he gives in about the kissing. He leans forward and licks into her mouth, his tongue gliding along hers. It’s not tender and it’s not a rule, they’ve never said so, so she can’t be mad about it. 

He hears her take a shaking breath as he pulls away and he lowers his head so that he can see she has to meet his eyes. 

She winces and squeezes his cock, running her thumb across the head and forcing a moan out of him. 

“Stop.” She says. And he nods. He will. 

He looks to the side then toward the stainless steel and porcelain appliances that decorate her kitchen, not brave enough to look her in the eyes. She’d fucked him right there against the refrigerator and eventually right on the floor not so long ago - after their retirement, when she’d learned he was engaged. She’d fucked the shit out of him, actually, absolutely furious about the prospect. That was the only time he’d seen her anything but _absolutely media-smile thrilled_ for he and Cece. And that was the last time he’d been inside of her. 

He’d been both afraid and hopeful things would change then, but they hadn’t but for the fact that they didn’t _fuck_ anymore. They were still the same people. Still inversely charged magnets unable to function properly when they were too close together or too far apart. 

Tessa brought it up just once, when they were in a hotel room on tour, while he had her thighs spread wide and his fingers buried inside of her to the hilt. 

“We can stop.” She’d said, and he’d pulled his fingers from her and set his hand on her thigh possessively. 

“That what you want?” He’d asked, already knowing the answer. 

She’d shaken her head and he’d eased his fingers back inside of her. “Good.” He’d said, coaxing an orgasm from her easily. “Me either.” 

And that had been the last they’d spoken of it. 

It was nothing new, this arrangement. It had stood for most of their adult lives. They’d fucked each other to feel better. All the time, no matter their respective relationship status. Their partners never knew - well, Scott’s never did. Tessa told hers most of the time if they were ones she’d planned on keeping around a while. They were never serious enough to press her about monogamy and if they had, Scott knows she’d have kicked them to the curb. This is how things are. They just _are._

Presently, she slides off his cock and onto her knees before him. She knows how close he is and she likes it when he comes in her mouth. She likes the taste of him as much as he likes the taste of her. She kneels on top of their mixed up pile of clothes and licks her way up from his balls to his tip, making him moan lowly and wrap his hand in her hair. 

She shuts her eyes when he forces her to tilt her head back and when he releases her she presses herself forward and nuzzles his shaft, open lips running along the length, tasting the both of them on him. 

She takes him deep, swallowing as she pushes herself far enough to challenge herself, one hand on his balls, the other on his shaft, pressing lower until her lips meet her hand. She doesn’t gag, never forces that on herself, never pushes herself _that_ far, and yet every time she does this she takes him deeper than anyone has before. 

She swallows around him again and he lets out a deep sigh, a whispered curse, and then a moan as she moves even lower, her hand tightening on his balls. 

When she pulls back, she moves slowly, releasing him inch by inch until it’s just his tip in her mouth. She sucks on it thoughtfully, her tongue circling over him. She takes her time with him more often than not, draws him out, strings him along until he can’t help but do something pathetic like beg her or whimper madly. She likes it when he breaks for her because she knows she’s the only one who’ll be ever to do it. 

She releases him with a pop and buries her face back between his legs, lapping at his shaft until it twitches and leaks for her once more, and then taking it back in her mouth. She looks up at him this time and he knows she likes this too, likes him to see what a mess she is for him. She likes him to see her hair mussed and her lipstick stained, her mascara thick and her eyes red and slightly teary with the effort of taking so much of him. She likes to watch how it wrecks him inside, because she can see it plainly on his face that it does. He doesn’t even try to hide it anymore. They know each other all too well. And he knows that she doesn’t do this for anyone else.

Looking in her eyes when she’s like this feels jumping off a bridge. 

When she’s seen enough wreckage in his face she begins to lower her lips on his shaft once more, but he reaches out unexpectedly and catches her cheeks. She looks up at him, his tip still in her mouth. 

“Just…” He chokes out. He wants to see her there a moment longer. He knows this is all he’s ever going to picture - her on her knees, so eager to take him - no matter who it is in front of him. He’s not completely sure why he stops her now. Maybe he just wants this to last a little longer. Maybe he wants more time to focus on the look of her, the fact that she’ll do this so eagerly for him. 

She pauses her ministrations, her eyes getting wider as she looks up at him. Her cheeks are flushed he realises then that she’s touching herself between her legs. 

He takes in a sharp breath and then grunts. “Let me taste you.”

She sucks weakly on his tip as she dips her fingers inside herself, closing her eyes and sighing around him at the feeling of something _finally_ inside of her. She stays there for a moment, her eyes closed, furrowing her brow slightly like she’s fighting to pull her fingers from herself now that she has something there and then finally doing it, offering them up to him so that he can take her wrist and guide them into his mouth. 

He groans around her fingers as he tastes her once more and then groans again as she takes his cock back into her mouth, sucking sharply and moaning softly until he spills inside of her with a final groan, doing his best to keep himself from bucking his hips into her mouth even though he knows she likes it. 

She takes all of him, milks every last drop and hums like she’s dissatisfied when he stops, like she wants _more._ It breaks him and he folds forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs, holding her face in his hands once more, pressing their foreheads together.

He holds her there until he can speak. 

“I’m an an idiot.” He says for the second time that day and she shakes her head, her eyes angled downward. 

“I am, T.” He insists.

“For what?” She asks, running her hands down his calves.

“Wanting more than this.” He answers, and her eyes dart up to his. 

She offers him a sad smile and cups his chin, leaning in so that she can kiss him gently on the lips. It’s not quite tender, but it’s enough. He can taste the sharp tang of himself on her. “Of course you’re not.” She tells him. “I understand.”

And he knows she does. He’s always wanted more. And she’s tried for him but it’s not who she is. At least not anymore… at least not lately. They never hold it against the other. They have _this_ arrangement now instead. As a necessity. 

She presses her lips to his forehead in a comforting gesture that he thinks might breach the boundary of tender, and he thinks she would be a good mother despite what she says and if she ever changes her mind.

She’s always been the one to hold him together. She’s always been the strong one. 

“We always have each other.” She says with finality, pulling back and standing, tossing his boxers at him and picking her dress up from where she’d knelt on it. 

She walks him to the door and he feels his heart wrench in his chest the way it does any time he’s faced with the prospect of being away from her. He opens his arms and she steps into them without hesitation, but this time he’s going to make her regret it because he tucks his face into her neck and nuzzles her softly, kissing her gently and fisting the silk of her dress in his hand where he holds her at her back. 

“I think I’m making a mistake.” 

She strokes a hand across his back, an action which he hadn’t anticipated. “You love her.” She says quietly, and he nods against her after a moment. “But I love a lot of things.” 

He can _feel_ her smiling, just knows she is. “That’s okay.” She says. “Are you going to stop loving those things once you’re married?” 

He shakes his head against her, taking comfort in her warmth, her touch and her scent. 

“Then I don’t see what changes.” She whispers. 

“I’m afraid I’ll lose you.” He says finally, the thought that had been weighing on him for weeks now. When he finally hears the words out loud he realises how stupid the idea is. Of course he won’t. 

“You _are_ an idiot.” She says softly, her hand stroking through his hair. “If you think that.” 

He lets himself huff a laugh. “I’m an idiot for a lot of reasons.” He says and holds her tighter. 

“You’re always mine.” She says and he feels himself melt into her, the possessiveness of her statement sending a warm rush through him. She doesn’t say the latter half, the mirror, the companion piece, that she’s always _his_ as well, but he doesn’t need her to say it because he already knows it and she’s shown him time and time again despite his insecurities, that it’s true. Tessa’s the most solid thing he’s ever known.

“Now,” She says, releasing him and stepping back, opening the door for him and shoving him playfully. “Go get married, you big dumb idiot.” 

He grins despite himself, all the way home.


	2. January 2019

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to add to this! I'm going back in time here before thinking about going forward (not necessarily going back chronologically if I decide to add more)

She’s exhausted from a tough day at the rink, and when she steps out of the shower, all Tessa wants to do is curl up in bed and sleep, but she’s expected at a charity thing, and she’s being picked up by her date so she knows she’s on a timeline. She doesn’t take so much as a minute to rest on her bed because she knows if she does she’ll never get up. 

Tonight she’s decided on pink, a silk triangle bralette with a thin mesh cutout lining and matching panties with a small triangle cutout just over her pubic bone and a little pink bow at the top. 

She smiles as she slips on her dress - tight and black, hugging her in all the right places. She does her makeup, dark eyes, light on everything else, pink lips. And her hair - half down, half pinned back with a black clip, light waves. 

She wears gold hoops, large enough to dangle and a delicate gold chain necklace which lays on her chest left bare from the neckline of her dress. 

She spritzes herself with perfume before pulling on her coat and slinging a black leather purse over her shoulder. 

He pulls up almost as if on cue, and Tessa slips on her heels - simple, elegant, black to match her dress - and heads out the door. 

He gets out of the car and opens the passenger door for her. “You look amazing.” He tells her, kissing her cheek. 

She meets his eyes, smells his cologne (a bit too strong), pulls on his tie and whispers, “You too.”, before ducking into the car. 

She’d met him at a gallery opening two days after Scott had told her about Cece. He’d bought her a drink, chatted her up all night, tried to impress her with his talk about investments, rolled his sleeves up when she asked him about stocks. He _airdropped_ her his contact information. She hadn’t exactly been interested, but he _is_ her type (physically, anyway), and she needed a date for tonight. Her conscious mind doesn’t want to fuck him. He’s too stiff, too gentle, but she’s wearing matching silk undergarments for a reason, isn’t she? She questions her unconscious self sometimes, believes she keeps secrets from her consciousness. She thinks that maybe she plans on fucking him even if she doesn’t want to. It’s a complicated thought. 

She sees him stealing glances at her, her bare thighs, her profile, her chest. She keeps her eyes trained on the road, but does let her gaze wander briefly to glance at his hand on the wheel. She doesn’t feel much. 

She doesn’t feel much all night until she’s sat at the dinner table, white tablecloth covering her legs, her date on one side and her partner on the other. 

He’s brought Cece, the current girlfriend. 

Tessa had given her a warm greeting, had struck up a conversation with her as they mingled. She was always nice to the girlfriends. She never wanted to ruin that for Scott, it was hard enough for him as it was. He wanted so much that she couldn’t offer him, so in a way she felt responsible for making his girlfriends feel comfortable, feel like things between them were _normal,_ whatever that was supposed to mean. He had _her_ , and then he had _them,_ for whatever it was _she_ couldn’t give him. It was the arrangement they’d decided on subliminally. 

Cece didn’t need much, and Tessa liked that about her. She was confident in her own abilities, her looks, her intellect. She didn’t follow Scott around like a lost puppy at events, didn’t ask about their relationship, didn’t try to talk about Scott with her. 

This is only the third time she’s actually spoken to Cece. Scott seems to like to keep her to himself. And Tessa hadn’t spoken to Scott all night, not until they were settled at their table, their dates flanking them on either side. 

“Hey.” He smiles at her and then leans over and offers his hand to her date. “Scott.” He says.

Her date smiles politely and takes Scott’s hand, shaking it firmly. “Austin.” 

Tessa can’t help a wayward glance at their joined hands. 

“This is my girlfriend, Cece.” He introduces her to Austin who offers his hand across both Tessa and Scott. 

They sit with dinner in front of them as they begin to listen to the speaker, something about charitable thinking leading to charitable action. 

It’s hard to pay attention because Scott’s hand brushed across the side of her thigh just as they’d sat down. 

She thinks it was probably an accident, tries to focus, but she can’t because she keeps thinking about his hands.

They have a confusing relationship, she and Scott, and she’s not entirely sure she doesn’t compare everyone’s _everything_ to him. She’d never tell him but he’s something of a benchmark and it just so happens that everyone else she’s been with thus far has fallen short. She can tell within moments of meeting someone that they don’t measure up to Scott, and it simplifies things because she doesn’t have to worry about _emotion_. It’s always been hard for her, emotion. Because in her heart of hearts she’s a sensitive person, but the only things she has as constants in her life are criticism and Scott. 

She locks that sensitive side away because she can’t appear weak to either. One would destroy her and the other would coddle her. 

She’s aware of Scott’s movements. Always is, as a consequence of their work. He scrapes his fork across the plate, guides it to his mouth, reaches out for his wine glass, fingers pinching the stem, running along it like he’s stroking it until he pressed his hand forward, cradling it between his fore and middle fingers and bringing it to his mouth for a long sip. His movements are fluid, his hands are steady, his fingers are thick but not clumsy. She watches the tendons in them flex and relax as he sets the glass back down in front of him and then jumps when he clears his throat and she realises he’s looking at her. 

He cocks his head, smirks knowingly at her and she feels her face grow hot. But he turns back to the speaker with that intent look on his face like there’s nothing else going on in his mind but the present. 

Tessa angles her head a bit in the opposite direction, embarrassed, and looks over at Austin, who reaches out for his wine glass then, fumbles it slightly but grasps it firmly enough to keep it from spilling, holding it between his index and middle fingers as he takes a sip. 

Tessa’s always liked the compulsory dance. Always believed it was the most evident way to tell which skaters were the strongest, most adept. Apples to apples and all that. 

Everything is a dance. Everything is a competition. She notices these things because they _matter_. And that’s how she knows Austin doesn’t meet the benchmark. 

She wonders how Austin’s tango is and smiles to herself because she knows Scott’s is better. Scott’s always better. 

And then she feels it again and it can’t be an accident this time - Scott’s hand, the warm back of his four fingers brushing against her outer thigh just below the hem of her dress under the tablecloth.

She looks over at him, but he’s staring straight ahead, focused on _charitable ventures,_ and Tessa exhales quietly, trying not to think anything of it, but it’s only another minute before he repeats the action, just a smooth caress of her thigh with the back of his hand. It’s nothing much, but between them, nothing can mean everything and Tessa feels herself grow hot with anticipation for him to touch her again. 

He does, moments later, lets his hand skim up the top of her thigh, his fingers trailing so gently along her skin they give her goosebumps, and when he reaches the hem of her dress she expects him to pull away, but he doesn’t. He slips his hand under, spreads his fingers wide and circles her upper thigh once, twice, three slow, deliberate, and irritatingly thrilling times before pulling back again. 

But Tessa knows him and when he starts something he sees it through. He likes teasing her but she knows he’s going to give in eventually, and the anticipation is enough to send her heart racing. 

They’ve gotten quite good at keeping things discreet, over the years, and she feels like it’s heightened her desire, made every single one of her nerves more sensitive so that even little things like sharing the same water bottle, a hand on the small of her back as they walk to his car after practice, him purposely leaving his shirt in her duffel, lips brushing closer than needed as they skate, breath on her neck, the way he looks at her when she takes her sweater off during a workout, the way he _grips_ her after she tells him she has a date… they start to feel absolutely filthy all on their own.

But the things they do to each other when they’re alone… those are the things she’s too hot to even dare to think about right now. She tries to direct her focus back to the speaker who’s just gotten to talking about his time in India when she feels Scott’s hand again, firm, as it cups her knee. He’s warm and sure of his movement as he slowly slides up her thigh, all the way to the apex and then lets it fall to the inside, his fingers smoothing over her inner thigh, eventually tracing along the line of her silk panties. He runs them up and down slowly, soflty, like it’s just absentminded touching, like he doesn’t _know_ what he’s doing to her. 

She feels herself grow hotter, a warm wetness pooling between her thighs, and she can’t help but spread her legs slightly in hopes that he’ll move a little more toward her centre. 

He hooks a finger beneath the line of her panties and pulls on them a bit, lets them snap back against her. 

She bites her lip and shifts uncomfortably. Austin glances over at her but doesn’t seem to be bothered, and redirects his attention to the speaker. 

Scott uses his free hand to reach for his wine while he begins to rub her through the silk. He starts gently, two fingers just stroking upward, barely giving her any pressure. But gradually he applies more and more, rubbing her in wide circles with just his index and middle fingers while he nurses his wine. 

She grabs his wrist, trying to get him to give her _more,_ but of course it only makes him ease up, go back to teasing her gently, running his hand up her thigh again, trailing his fingers across her until she lets go of him. 

She sees him smile when she does and she knows he’s taking it as a surrender. But it doesn’t matter because he cups her entire pussy then like he _owns_ it. It’s enough to make her clutch the table to keep from rolling her hips against his hand. 

And then she sees the way he shuts his eyes, leaving them closed just a moment too long, flaring his nostrils as he exhales just a little too loud. He can feel how wet she is through her panties and she knows it has him hard, and she knows how bold and wild he gets when he’s like this, which only makes her grow wetter for him. 

He takes a deep breath and drains the rest of his wine before she feels his fingers peeling the crotch of her thong to the side. The stickiness there feels cool when exposed to the open air, but the feeling doesn’t last long because Scott’s finger is there, hot and thick and perfect, dipping just beneath her folds and running along her slit, collecting her wetness and circling herclit just once before repeating the action of tracing her. 

He does this several times and she can feel herself grow slicker each time, her clit throbbing for more pressure, her whole body tightening for him.

But he seems content to keep teasing her this way, dragging a finger through her folds, teasing her entrance, circling her clit too gently. 

She feels like she’s about to burst into flames when the speaker finishes and Scott pulls his hand back above the table to clap for him along with everyone else. Tessa manages to join in after a moment. 

Austin starts talking about a vacation he took to India once and it’s all Tessa can do to just nod along like she can process a word of what he’s saying. She can hear Scott’s voice, though her head’s turned away from him now. He’s talking to Cece, and maybe someone else at the table.

She doesn’t expect it when he dips his hand back under her dress and pulls her panties aside once more to touch her. 

She gasps slightly and Austin says something like, “Nah, it wasn’t that cool.” And continues with whatever he was saying while Scott finally slides a finger into her aching pussy. She opens her thighs, feeling absolutely lewd. 

“Sorry, did you say dirt biking?” It’s Scott, talking to Austin and Tessa turns to him in disbelief. He glances at her for a moment and slips another finger inside her. She clutches at the table cloth and gapes at him as Austin directs his attention to Scott. 

“Yeah, when I was in India last year. 

“That must’ve been amazing.” Scott says, dragging his fingers almost all the way out of her before pressing them back in slowly. 

“Oh yeah, it was awesome.” Austin says. “Have you been?” 

“Nah.” Scott says, curling his fingers this time and circling her clit with his thumb. Tessa thinks she might pass out. “Ce’s been though.” 

“Oh yeah, such a spiritual experience.” Cece chimes in from Scott’s other side, and that’s all Tessa pays attention to because Scott slips a third finger inside her and directs his gaze to her. “We had a good practice today, eh, kiddo?” 

She looks up at him like she’s going to kill him, but the smirk he gives her just makes her clench around his fingers and he chuckles. “I know things have been a little tense so I’m glad we could relax a little tonight.” 

“Oh, you guys have a big competition coming up?” Austin asks, apparently done talking about India. 

“Nothing crazy, it’s just a show actually.” Scott says, rocking his three fingers in and out of her, thumb slowly teasing her clit. “But we’ve finally got all the kinks in this one dance hammered out.” He curls his fingers and Tessa nearly chokes. 

“This coming weekend is more of a wet run for the rest of the season.” Scott says, and Tessa swears she hears him emphasize the word wet as he withdraws his fingers and smears her wetness all over her cunt messily before burying them back inside. 

“I’ve seen it and they’re going to be great.” Cece says, squeezing Scott’s shoulder. “And Tessa, I know it’s not the final version of your dress but you look amazing.” 

“Oh, thank you.” Tessa says, doing her best not to whimper as Scott continues fucking her slowly with his fingers. 

She opens her legs wider and presses her hips forward, driving him deeper and clenching around him again. She sees the way it makes him shudder and smiles as she feels a semblance of pride that he probably wants her just as badly right now.  
“So at this point we’d like to invite you all to get to know one another.” The host says, and people begin raising from their chairs to mingle again. 

_Fuck._ She thinks as she feels Scott withdraw his fingers, circle her crudely and then bring his hand to his lips, making like he’s cleaning his fingers off after dinner.

Cece eyes him disapprovingly because _how graceless_ the action looks in such a setting, but Tessa can’t help the way it makes her burn for him. 

“I’m just going to head to the bathroom.” He tells Cece, and gets up glancing quickly at Tessa before hurrying off. 

Tessa pretends to have someone in mind to talk to and leaves Austin and Cece at the table as she makes her way back to the bathrooms. Truthfully, she’s just planned on locking herself in a stall and getting herself off at this point because she can’t stand it anymore, but Scott is waiting there by the bathroom door and intercepts her, taking her hand, holding it just as he does on the ice, leading her surely. 

He navigates them to a stairwell and pushes the door open, pulling her after him and pressing her up against the wall the moment the door has closed. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” She hisses at him, but he rocks his pelvis into her hips and her voice catches in her throat when she feels how hard he is. 

“I want you.” He says gruffly and she pretends not to notice the way her cunt aches for him. 

He grinds his hips into hers, holding her waist with one hand while the other plucks her nipple through her dress.

“You liked that.” He says, so sure of himself.

“So did you.” She says, her voice hoarse with the effort of restraint. She can’t say she didn’t like it, he’d _felt_ her. She’s soaked. But he’s just as turned on. So turning it around on him is the only thing she can think to do in her defense. Yes. She liked it. But she’s not the only one that’s fucked up. 

It seems to set him off though, and he hikes her dress up to her hips and cups her through the fabric of her panties. “You taste so fucking good.” He tells her, his chest pressed to hers, his lips on her ear. 

“Cece’s going to be looking for you.” She says to him. She knows it’s not true. If anything, Austin will be the one looking for _her_. Cece handles herself. But she wanted to say her name, wanted to see for herself, wanted to test him for the millionth time, to see if there’s regret or sorrow or pity in his eyes. To see if he’ll realise they shouldn’t be doing this. That Tessa’s just a bad habit he can’t give up. Or else that she’s a comfort fuck, the adult equivalent of sucking a thumb or clutching a security blanket, just something they’ve done for each other for ages now. She studies his face as the woman’s name rolls off her tongue, but she sees nothing but desire in him. He refuses to let her feel like a vice.

She knows anyone looking at their relationship from the outside would find it morally _wrong,_ but she doesn’t think either of them can help it. She won’t deny him her body, it’s an extension of his and to take that away would be stifling to both of them. And she can’t deny the way it feels to be with him. When he fills her she feels whole, but it’s more than that. She feels greater than an individual, like they’re adding themselves together in some kind of electrifyingly carnal arithmetic. In a way that others simply can’t. Others can’t even begin to understand it. 

“We both know that’s not true.” He says softly and kisses her, lips gentle, tongue sloppy. 

She tries not to tremble against him but she’s stretched to her limits, her whole body screaming for his touch. 

“But we should be quick, before your boyfriend notices.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend.” She finds herself shooting back immediately and defensively, and sees the self satisfied smirk on Scott’s face. He’d just wanted to hear her say it and her face reddens. 

“Who’d you wear these for then?” He asks lowly, hooking his index finger under the crotch of her panties and running the back of it along her slit perpendicularly, pressing up just enough to tease her entrance. 

She takes a shuddering breath because he knows so well how to make her beg, and if ever there were a right person to do it for it’s him. 

“Scott.” She huffs, pouting her lip in a way that she knows he can’t resist.

He moans lowly, deep in his throat and ruts against her. 

She reaches down between them, palming him through his dress pants and repeats herself more firmly. “ _Scott_.” 

He whispers a curse under his breath and fumbles with his belt and zipper until he frees his cock, stroking it twice before pressing it against the wet silk between her legs. 

He leans his whole body against hers, the weight of him making her squirm.

“You’re so fucking wet, Tess.” He manages as he drags his cock back and forth along her silk. 

She reaches up and twines a hand in his hair, pulling as she rolls her hips and he dips a hand down and rubs her clit. “You like it when I tease you, don’t you?” He asks. “You like when I do it in front of everyone.” 

She bites back a whimper as he pushes her silk aside and slips two fingers inside her. She inhales sharply, presses down onto his hand and watches the way his cock twitches between them. 

“You make me so fucking hard, you know that?” He drags his fingers in and out of her. “I’d fuck you in front of all of them if that’s what you wanted.” He says gruffly. 

And she can’t help the soft moan that escapes her. She doesn’t think he’s bluffing. Sometimes he’s so bold it surprises her, even after all these years. 

He pulls his fingers from her and she thinks she might actually start _sobbing_ if he doesn’t make her come soon. 

“Come here.” He says, more gently, lifting her leg and hooking it around his waist as he holds his cock in one hand and runs it along the silk. “I like these.” He says. “They’re pretty.” 

She closes her eyes, feeling the warm weight of him against her centre. He exhales deeply and his breath tickles her neck as he breathes, “Everything about you is so pretty, Tess.” 

He presses the tip of his cock into her, her underwear a barrier between them and she digs her nails into his shoulders. 

“Please, Scott.” She says, and sees him smile. “Say it.” He tells her, pressing his tip into her once more. 

She feels lightheaded. “Fuck me.” She says firmly. She’s not playing games now. She needs it. 

She sees the way it changes his face, makes his expression darken, turns the tables deliciously in her favour. It drives him crazy to hear her say things like that and she knows it. It’s like pulling a trigger - there’s no coming back from it.

“Fuck.” He growls and it almost makes her laugh how those two words have so much power over him.

He pulls her panties to the side and sinks into her, moaning deeply. She rolls her head back against the wall and clutches his lapels to keep herself steady, though his hands on her waist are firm enough to hold her up on their own. 

It’s hard and fast and wet and deliciously lewd as he fucks up into her and she rolls her hips to help him, her leg still draped over his hip, heel pressing into his ass, driving him as deeply as she can. 

It doesn’t take long for her, she’d already been right there on the edge, and the fullness of him and the weight and the heat, and finally the press of his lips to her neck throws her over even more quickly than she’d expected. 

She comes with a moan, quickly latching her lips to his to muffle herself, and he moans back into her mouth when he feels her throbbing around him, tight and wet, like she’s trying to milk him of everything he has. 

She pulls her lips from his to catch her breath, shaky and sensitive.

“Fuck.” He says once more, his voice completely wrecked, and starts to pull himself out, but she stops him. 

“Come inside me.” She says in a broken whisper. “Please.” 

He growls and hitches her leg higher, fucking her to another orgasm, this one more gentle than the last but just as thrilling, before spilling himself inside of her with a long groan against her neck, his whole body shaking. 

She holds him, fingers stroking the nape of his neck as they revel in the feel of their coupling as long as reasonable time will allow. 

When he finally does pull himself from her, he holds her panties to the side and watches the way his come drips out of her, rubbing his fingers over her slit gently and collecting the excess on his fingers before bringing it to her mouth. 

He looks at her with that broken look on his face as she sucks their come off of him, her eyes locked on his. 

And then with a deep sigh he covers her with the silk and steps back from her, rearranging himself to look presentable. 

She does the same, unable to formulate the words she feels she wants to communicate. She gives up trying and makes for the door in silence, but he grabs her wrist, forces her to turn to him. 

“Were you going to fuck him?” He asks. It’s the first time he’s seemed genuinely bothered by her being with someone else tonight. 

“That was the plan.” She says softly, but it’s certainly not anymore with Scott’s come warm and sticky, dripping from her cunt. 

He seems to realise this because he looks slightly apologetic. 

Tessa simply shakes her head. “I don’t really like him that much anyway.” She never does.

Scott steps forward and, in an unexpected move, takes her face in his hands and presses a long kiss to her forehead, more tender than she’s comfortable with, and despite that, she tries not to think of it as an apology or worse, a _thank you,_ either for what she did with him or for what she’s _not_ doing with Austin. She gives him a small smile before making her way back out to the party, not asking if he plans to fuck Cece. She doesn’t want to know, because she doesn’t think she’d be happy with the answer either way. 


	3. Summer 2017

It’s not weird when they embrace. Scratch that - it’s not weird to _them._ He’s glad they’re alone, sheltered by her white walls and marble, flowers and coffee, because it _is_ weird to other people. They’ve come to learn that over the years. 

They’re in each other’s arms for over three full minutes before Tessa has the strength to pull away. _She’s always the strong one_ , he thinks, and wishes that sometimes, just in cases like this, that she wasn’t. 

But it’s in her bones, it’s who she is and he loves her _because_ of that, not in spite of it. He’ll take what she gives and give what she wants. 

“Tell me about Bermuda.” She’s saying, her eyes wide and expectant. He’d missed them so much. Nobody has eyes like Tessa. She can see right through him like he’s transparent, can silence him with a look, send his heart aflutter with a wink, make him hard with just a glance. It’s like she keeps her emotions so pent up in her head that they have nowhere else to go, they just press themselves up against her eyes like they’re two green, stained glass windows and stare right out at him.

So in a way, he sees right through _her,_ too. 

“It was good.” He says, holding his hand out for the mug she’s offering him. 

“That’s all I get?” She asks, a sly smile playing on her lips as she leans back against her kitchen counter. “It looked beautiful.” 

He’d sent her a picture Cece had taken of him standing up to his calves in the ocean at sunset. It hadn’t been the nicest picture he’d gotten of the sunset, or of the scenery in general, but part of him wanted her to think about _him,_ wanted her to see _him,_ instead of the scenery, wanted to know that she’d _have_ to think about him when she got it. 

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.” He tells her. “Beaches and sun.” He holds his arms out to show her, hoping she’ll still look at them like she did four weeks ago, before they’d parted. “Too much sun.” He says, the slight pink burns still evident enough to see. 

She does look at him that way, and he relaxes slightly. 

“I hope you’re putting aloe on them.” She nods to his arms. 

“You know me, always moisturising.” He winks at her and she rolls her eyes because she’s tried in vain for _years_ to get him to adopt some semblance of a skincare routine but he just can’t be bothered. 

“So what else?” She asks, taking a sip of her coffee. It’s the blend he’d gotten her at the end of their season, just Tim’s Original, half-caf. Tim’s because they’d been in Europe so long he’d known it would be all she’d want, and half-caf because he’s sure her tolerance is far too high. ‘ _So I won’t have to get three cups in you before you’re even remotely functional at the start of next season.’_ He’d told her. And she’d laughed. 

“Well…” He tries to think of something that really stuck out… “Ce-“ He stops himself before he can say her full name, but Tessa’s watching him and he peeks in through the stained glass to see _expectancy_ and _unease_. He wonders what she thinks about Cece.

“Cece got stung by this huge jellyfish.” 

Tessa raises her eyebrows. “Really?”

He nods. “I had to pee on her foot.” 

“Oh, kinky.” She says, taking another sip of her coffee. He looks up at her to see the corners of her eyes - all he can see of them over the rim of her tipped-up mug - turned up into a smile. She catches him off guard with comments like that all the time. It’s funny because he _knows_ her. He _knows_ she’s a little devious, a little promiscuous when she wants to be, but she still has this innocent way about her that makes those comments unexpected - and apparently fools just about everyone else.

“Yeah? You jealous?” He asks, grinning at her as she lowers her mug, cradling it in her hands. 

“No.” She says, nonchalantly. “You’d pee on me if I asked you to.” 

He nearly chokes on his coffee, just the way the words sound coming out of her mouth, but he knows she’s joking, so he keeps himself together.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. He would, too. He tries to think of anything he _wouldn’t_ do if she asked him to. He’s still running through scenarios (killing a baby is where he thinks he’d draw the line) when she interrupts his thoughts, “Did you two do anything else?” 

And it’s the way she says it that kills him, like she’s expecting something awful. “Nothing interesting.” He tells her. “We did this couples cruise but it rained the entire time so that was kind of a bust.” 

“Oh.” She says. “Well… I’m sorry.” She’s not. He can tell - Her eyes. 

“Yeah.” He says, and he thinks that if Tessa had been with him on the cruise the rain wouldn’t have mattered.

“Anyway, what’ve _you_ been up to? How’s your mum and sister?” 

“She’s good.” Tessa says. “It was so nice to have some actual time with them, you know?” 

Scott nods. “Good.” He says.

They’re silent for a moment, Scott finishing the last of his coffee before he looks back up at her. She’s just standing there, looking down into her mug, _smiling._

“What’re you smiling about?” He chuckles. 

She looks up at him and he sees the tiniest hint of a blush creep across her cheeks. “Nothing.” She laughs like he’s being ridiculous, but her eyes don’t lie. 

“You missed me, didn’t you?” 

She scoffs. “You wish.” 

He stands and carries his mug with him as he makes his way over to where she’s still leaned up against the counter. He pauses right in front of her and their eyes lock that way they’ve done for longer than either of them can remember. He sees her lip quiver and smiles softly at her because he knows she’s trying to keep herself from smiling. He leans closer and her eyes track his until their foreheads are nearly touching. And then he leans just a little closer and her lips part and he can see _desire, want,_ in her stained glass eyes. And he’s satisfied with that so he’ll tease her just a bit more because he likes it when she blushes and he’s tired of feeling like he’s the only one chained to a wall. 

“’S’cuse me.” He says, and acts like he’s trying to lean around her, setting his mug in the sink beside her. 

He watches her eyes go wide, her cheeks turn pink and she pushes his chest. “You’re an idiot.” She says. 

“Yeah, yeah, tell me something I don’t know.” He mumbles, turning to make his way back to his seat, but she catches him by the wrist and he turns to her. 

“I _did_ miss you.” She tells him. 

He smirks. “I said tell me something I _don’t_ know.” 

He’s not actually asking, and she knows it but he sees that look in her eye, like she’s going to challenge him. Maybe challenge herself, too. 

She bites her lip, her cheeks growing pinker. “That night you sent me that picture…” She says, her voice lowering, “I almost sent you once back.” 

He stares at her. “You… uh…” 

She nods. “Yeah, just a picture of me.” 

“Can I see it?” He asks, stepping closer, his arms bracing on the counter on either side of her, effectively trapping her between them.

She smiles up at him, satisfied that she has his attention so fully. She doesn’t move to pull her phone from her back pocket so Scott moves one of his hands from the counter to her mid back and drags it to her side and down, tracing her curves until he’s cupping her ass over her pocket where he can feel her phone. 

Her expression is unchanged, dark green eyes, challenging him, she _wants_ him to touch her. He holds her like that a minute longer because he likes it and he can tell she does too, before his curiosity gets the better of him and he pulls her phone from her pocket. He unlocks it with her passcode, _159357,_ an ‘x’ across her touchpad. It always reminds him of a kiss and he likes that, though he knows that wasn’t her logic behind it. 

He opens her photos, and immediately sees pictures of her cottage, greens and blues and rocky beaches, her sister and mother, a heavily frosted cake, painted toenails on beach rocks - she takes a lot of pictures. But the one he’s looking for stands out immediately when he scrolls up enough to see it. It’s quite unlike the rest in that it’s soft. Soft light and soft skin and soft, evergreen eyes teasing him through the camera. She’s in her bra, white lace, with one strap falling off her shoulder, her hair slightly tousled, her hand teasing the waist of her panties, her cheeks flushed, a warm summer glow on her skin making her freckles slightly more pronounced than usual.

“Fuck, Tess.” He says, his eyes still fixed on the photo. “Fuck.” He wishes she would have sent it. 

“I thought about you while I…” 

He raises his brow. “While you…” He says, gruffly, waiting for her to continue, but she just nods. 

“Say it.” He says, the blood rushing to his lower abdomen making him quiver. 

She looks at him and breaks out laughing. “You should see your face!” 

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” He says, winking and trying to recover a bit of his damaged dignity. 

“Maybe I did.” She says, a teasing tone in her voice. 

The smile fades from his face. “Did you?” 

She’d taken the picture for a reason, he just wants to know that the reason was _him,_ and not someone else. 

She smiles playfully in that way that still reminds him of when they were kids when she’d eat half his fries while he was in the bathroom and pretend nothing was amiss. She shrugs. 

“Well…” He says lowly, approaching her slowly until he can run his hands down her arms, bare thanks to the little blue tank top she has on. “If you did… _touch yourself,”_ He says to make her blush because he knows she will. She’s so embarrassed by voicing acts with _actual words,_ when the _acts_ themselves are like second nature. Scott finds it cute and endlessly entertaining. “And you thought of _me_ … I think you’d owe me a picture back. As a thank you. It’s only polite.” 

“I didn’t know with… um… Cece there with you.” She says, looking down at their feet, his flanking hers on either side. 

So she really _had_ taken it for him? She _really_ must have missed him. 

He drops his hands to her waist and leans in close, forehead to forehead again, her phone pressed against her hip as he tries to peek into her eyes once more. 

_Sadness?_

He kisses her cheek softly and her eyes dart upward to meet his. _That’s better._

_“_ Maybe I could show you.” She says. “To make up for not sending it.” 

His eyes widen and he presses himself forward as she wraps her arms around his neck, and they embrace once more, their breath syncing and their hearts, already beating in tandem, slowing. He drops his head lower and presses his lips to her neck, kissing her there, sucking gently on her skin. She smells _so_ good. He’s gone far too long without her scent. 

“Only if you want to.” He says in a low whisper against her ear as he feels her clutch his shirt in her fists against his back and press her hips into his. He knows she likes the way he feels against her, especially when she can feel how hard he gets for her.

Maybe he should be embarrassed, the way he’s so easy for her, but there’s always been an understanding between them. They’ve always _wanted_ each other in one way or another. 

She nods against him and he lifts her up onto the counter. 

“Good.” He says gruffly, tracing his finger along the neckline of her tank top, pulling slightly. “Good girl.” She squirms against him. He knows she likes that word and he smiles. They haven’t played that game in a long time and he’s not planning on it today, but he still likes the way it never fails to get a reaction.

“Show me then.” He says softly. “What did you do?” 

“Well actually…” She says, her cheeks still flushed, “I was in my bed.” 

A sly smile grows across his face. “Are you inviting me up to your bedroom?” 

He hasn’t been in her bedroom in a long time. They’d stopped doing that. It seemed too personal. 

“Well…” she says, “If this is a reenactment, you want it to be accurate, don’t you?” 

Scott pretends to think about it for a moment before nodding. “Accuracy is important.” He says, holding her under her arms and lifting her off the counter. She leads him to her room, holding his hand the way only _she_ knows how to. 

She sheds her jeans without ceremony, peels her tank top off. He shuts his eyes tightly and takes a deep breath when he realises she hadn’t had a bra on. 

“You have to watch.” She says in that faux innocent way and he huffs a laugh because she doesn’t even need to _try_ , he’s so fucking hard for her already. 

He opens his eyes and she’s on the bed, pretty blush thong between her legs. She pats the mattress. “Sit.” She says, and he kicks his shoes off quickly and joins her.

Her room is almost exactly as he remembers it - crisp, clean, _white_ bed centered in the room, headboard against the wall, windows covered with clean white binds, framed by grey drapes, book on her night stand, something he’d never read, tissues, analog alarm clock, lotion, bureau with pictures of her family, one of him, a boar bristle brush with a silver handle on her vanity, a small bag with her makeup, shoes in the corner by her closet like she’d been in a rush, laundry basket with things she’d been too busy to refold or hand. She’s not complicated in the way she likes things, just specific. He likes that. He’s come to understand it. 

About the only thing he notices that’s different is the full length mirror moved directly in front of the wall across from the bed. It strikes him as interesting for a moment before she pushes his chest, has him sit up with his back leaning against the headboard, and settles herself between his legs, her bare back on his chest. He wishes he’d had the wherewithal to take his own shirt off so he could feel her against him. 

She turns her head and looks up at him. “Are you watching?” She asks, and he can see the way she’s trying to hide that devious look, but her eyes give her away, she’s a little vamp and she knows it. And _God,_ does he love it. 

“I’m watching.” He tells her, his voice sounding slightly more hoarse than he wishes it would. She smiles cunningly and leans her full weight against him, resting her head on his shoulder where he nuzzles his cheek against her nose while he runs his hands down her arms. He holds her at her forearms and his hand moves with her as she settles it between her legs and begins to tease herself. He cranes her neck to see better but quickly realises that he can use the mirror against the wall in front of them to see everything she’s doing. He lets himself wonder them whether it’s there for a reason. The image of her writhing under some guy as they watch themselves flashes through his mind for an instant before she whines softly and snaps him out of it. 

He refocuses on her because it doesn’t matter _why_ the mirror is there. She can do what she wants with _whomever_ she wants and today she wants to do _this_ with _him._

He hums low in his throat as he watches her rub herself slowly, working herself up, teasing herself the way she likes, the way he likes to do for her. 

He releases her forearm attached to the hand that isn’t busy between her legs and strokes his fingers across the side of her breast, watching her lips curve upward in the mirror. And he smiles at that. She _likes_ when he touches her. 

So he doesn’t stop, he trails his other hand up her arm until he can cup each of her breasts, fondling them gently, teasing her nipples just a fingertip at a time. He watches the way she reacts in the mirror as he feels it in her body, an arch, a sigh, a roll of her hips, the tiniest whimper he’s ever heard.

He feels guilty for a moment when he hears that, like maybe he’s neglected her, hasn’t given her what she needs. It’s something he’s constantly monitoring - has been ever since he’d fucked up and hadn’t talked to her after her surgery all those years ago. 

Sometimes the line confuses him, the line he’s supposed to toe but not cross. If he stands too far back from it, he’ll hurt her and if he crosses it, he’ll only hurt himself. He tries his best to balance right on it but it’s hard sometimes.

He kisses her because it’s all he can think to do in the moment. That, and telling her, “You’re so beautiful.” As he pulls her hair to the side and presses his lips to her neck. He uses his teeth, an action which causes her to inhale sharply and moan softly and Scott feels his cock start to throb. 

He kisses her neck again because she wants him to and his hands run from her breasts, down her abdomen, strong and solid, and then settle on top of her hands as she touches herself over the fabric. 

“What were you thinking about?” He asks lowly in her ear. “When you were touching yourself.” 

“Your hands.” She says, tilting her head to encourage him to come back to her neck. He does, smoothing over the red mark he’d caused with his tongue and then sucking gently, monitoring her face in the mirror. She likes it. 

“What about them?” He asks. He’s going to push her a bit. 

“All over me.” She huffs, turning her head to rest more fully against him. He’d think it was sweet if he weren’t so turned on. 

“Yeah?” He asks. “You like it when I touch you?” 

She smiles softly, her eyes closed and she nods. 

He watches her fingers circle the spot where he knows her clit is, just under the little bow on her panties. 

“Where do you like me to touch you?” He asks innocently. 

“Everywhere.” She says quietly and he chuckles.

“Yeah? Everywhere?” He drags his hands up her abdomen, over her breasts, up her neck, through her hair. She arches her back again making soft little sounds and Scott sees her slip her hand into her panties.

“Fuck.” He whispers “I missed you.” 

Her legs close around her hand when he says it and he knows she’s soaked. The thought makes his pants feel far too tight. 

She opens her eyes, looking up at him and he smiles down at her. He runs the back of his finger gently across her cheek because sometimes he just wants to be soft with her. He knows she doesn’t particularly like being affectionate but he can’t help but think of her as his partner, who he’s supposed to protect, trust and place _his_ trust in, and he gets caught up in the feeling of being with her, of being so intimate, of her movements when she dances or her soft-spoken voice, even when she’s teasing him. For such a fierce person, she carries herself gently, and he loves that about her. And he loves _her._ And it makes him feel _soft._ And he treats the things he loves softly in turn. 

She squirms and he realises she’s shimmying out of her underwear, kicking them off her ankle and adjusting herself to settle more comfortably against him. He wraps his arms around her and nuzzles her cheek. 

“Does that feel good?” He asks, watching her let her legs fall open, priding himself on the way she’s so comfortable letting him see _all_ of her. He watches on intently as she circles her clit, unable to look away from her. 

She nods. 

He sighs deeply, his hands itching to touch her. He runs them through her hair and then back down her neck to her shoulders and eventually back to her breasts where he runs the pads of his fingers just along the underside of each, the smooth supple skin begging to be squeezed. He knows she loves it when he does, but he refrains in the name of teasing her. 

Instead, he brings a finger to her mouth and she accepts it, sucking eagerly and bucking her hips. “Good girl.” He tells her once more and she hums deeply as he pulls his finger from her and brings it back down to her breast, circling the pretty pink bud of her nipple. 

“Oh.” She sighs when she feels the way he’s circling her, just the same way he’d rub her clit if he wanted to drive her insane and she adjusts her pace to match his. 

He smirks. “That’s it.” He tells her in a low whisper. “Did you think of me touching you like this?”

She nods, her eyes closed and her lips parted. 

He teases both of her nipples, rolling them slowly under his fingertips, then plucking them between his index finger and thumb, watching the way her legs begin to shake and how her fingers pick up pace against her. 

Then he pinches her nipples between his fingers and holds them, pulling slightly until she chokes out a broken moan, quivering against him. 

He watches her free hand move up her body and wrap around one of his forearms, dragging it down with her, placing him between her legs. 

_Fuck._ He thinks to himself, but what he says is, “You’re so fucking wet for me, Tess.” 

She rolls her hips, trying to encourage him to touch her. He ghosts his fingers across her slit, strokes gently up and down and makes her squirm. 

“Tell me what you want.” He says gruffly. 

“Fuck me.” She says, pulling on his hand impatiently. He squeezes her breast with the his free hand and she moans wantonly and rolls her hips against his hand. 

“Yeah?” He asks. “You want me to fuck you with my fingers?” 

She nods eagerly. “Please.” 

“Look at me.” He says firmly, his hand releasing her breast to cup her chin and angle her face toward his. 

Her pupils are blown so wide he can hardly see the green of her eyes. 

“Did you take that picture for me?” He asks, a deep husk in his voice. She licks her lips and stares at him for a moment like she needs to a minute to process the words before she nods. 

He nods back, sighing deeply. “Send it next time.” He says, before slipping a finger inside of her without warning. 

She throws her head back against his chest and purrs as she rocks her hips, her hand still rubbing her clit. 

“Good girl.” He says. “You want another?” 

She nods and he slips another in making her choke on a moan. 

“Where do you like my fingers?” He asks, grasping her wrist and pulling her hand from between her legs. He holds it so that it’s just his fingers on her now, fucking her in and out slowly, rhythmically. 

She whimpers, “Scott.” 

“Tell me and I’ll make it better.” He says. 

She shudders and her eyelids flutter as he continues his rhythmic movement. 

“Tell me where you like my fingers.” He says. “Tell me where, Tess.” 

She sighs shakily, rocking her hips in an effort to force him deeper. 

“I’ll give you more when you tell me.” He says. 

“In my… pussy.” She says softly, her cheeks reddening and her eyes shut tightly. 

“Mhm.” He hums and slips a third finger into her. 

She gasps and whines, begging him to move faster, go deeper, touch her clit, _anything._

“Look at me.” He demands. 

She does. “Did you think of me touching you like this when you took that picture?” 

She nods vehemently and he smiles. He loves it when she’s like this. 

“Such a good girl.” He says, and feels her clench around his fingers which makes his cock throb achingly.

“Scott.” She whines, grabbing his free hand and pulling it downward. He knows what she wants. 

“You have such a pretty pussy, Tess.” He whispers, beginning to stroke her clit. She nuzzles against his neck and purrs again. He loves that sound. He fucks her slowly with his fingers, gradually getting deeper as he rubs her clit, and she completely unravels, her whole body opening for him and then seizing around him when he pushes her to her limits, making her come all over his hand as she snakes an arm back and pulls on his hair, her other grasping his forearm, nails digging in.

He smirks, playing with her wetness for a moment before she pulls his hand from her and brings it to her lips, cleaning herself off him. 

He watches her in the mirror, his cock painful now, pressing up into her back. When she releases his hand she pushes herself up off him and turns, kneeling before him. 

“Fuck me.” She says almost immediately, and he’s surprised and incredibly emboldened with how much she truly sounds like she _needs_ it _._ “Fuck me, Scott.” She repeats, her hands falling to the waist of his pants where she fumbles with the button and zipper. 

He helps her rid him of them, and peels his shirt off quickly after, his head lolling back as she begins stroking him unforgivingly. 

“Jesus, T.” He groans. 

Then he sees that look in her eye and he knows she needs him inside of her _now_ , but he holds her hips. “Turn around.” He says.

She does so eagerly, and he raises to his knees, lines himself up with her and slides himself into her slick velvet heat. 

The sound she makes thankfully covers up the whimper that escapes him at the feel of her so tight and wet around him. They’ve gone longer without this, of course they have, but he’s not really sure _how_ when it feels like _this._

“God, you’re so fucking tight.” He hisses, pulling out almost all the way and sliding back into her slowly. 

She presses her hips back, trying to increase the pace and he acquiesces because he needs it just as much.

They fuck each other hot and hard and fast, the sound of their skin slapping together and the wetness between them and their heavy breath, all they can hear before Scott catches a glimpse of them in the mirror. He’d honestly been so caught up in her he’d forgotten it was there. He’s clutching her right breast like he owns it, his other hand splayed out across her smooth stomach. He adjusts his hold, uses one hand to wrap around her throat and the other to still her hips. 

“Open your eyes.” He tells her, and she does, meeting his in the mirror. 

“Look at us.” He says lowly into her ear. “Look at how _fucking_ hard you make me.” She presses herself back on his cock, pushing him deep. 

“Look how good you take it.” He says, pressing up into her, because if she wants deep, he’ll give her _deep._

Her mouth drops open as she sighs as he feels a rush of wetness between them, her walls unbearably tight around his cock. 

“I want you to watch.” He says, nodding over her shoulder toward the mirror. “Watch me fuck you.” 

She shuts her eyes tightly when he says that, a small whimper escaping her before she nods and opens them, focusing them on the mirror, on their joined forms. 

He holds one hand gently at the base of her neck, and lets the other spread itself across her stomach as he fucks up into her slowly, letting her feel every inch of his throbbing length. 

“Fuck, Tessa you feel so fucking good.” 

She reaches back, hand grasping at his hair, pulling deliciously, egging him on. He gives her what she wants, moving faster, the hand on her stomach moving down to touch her. She inhales sharply when he does and he meets her eyes in the mirror. “Come for me.” He says. “I want you all over me.” 

She shudders and presses herself back against him as far as she can manage, her legs trembling. 

Scott holds her up, smirking until he feels her come, tight and wet, hot and rhythmic, milking his cock until he comes with her, pressing his hips forward, driving into her as deep as he can and choking on his moan when he feels her nails scrape over the side of his neck. The smirk is wiped straight from his face as he spills himself into her, thrusting slowly, helping her come down as much as he’s helping himself. 

“Jesus.” He pants, burying his face into the crook of her neck and nuzzling against her warm skin. He presses a soft kiss there before pulling back and out of her, holding her steady as she lowers herself languidly to lay out on the bedcovers. He joins her, facing her now, his eyes raking across her body. He sees a bruise on her collar and knows it’s not from him, but he decides not to ask about it. He’s never been good at hiding his jealousy. 

“So, how accurate a reenactment was that?” He asks. 

She smirks at him and lets a finger trail down his chest, tracing the line between his pectorals. “Not quite accurate.” She says. “But much more satisfying.” 

He smiles and leans forward to kiss her nose. “I missed you, kiddo.” He knows he’s said it multiple times already, but it doesn’t feel like _enough_. It’s hard being away from someone you see as a _part_ of you. And it’s another part of that line method, he wants to make sure she knows he’s not stepping back. 

She smiles. “I’m glad you had a good time away.” 

She looks down and he thinks he sees the insecurity that sometimes crops up there behind her eyes. It’s certainly a feeling he’s familiar with. 

“You know I think about you.” He says. 

And he knows that she knows what he means - he thinks about her when he’s _with_ Cece.  But she looks somewhat surprised when she looks back up at him. _Hadn’t she known that?_ He’d told her that about others he’d been with. 

She falters, “I didn’t know… if maybe it was different with _her_.” 

He shakes his head. “It’s only different with _you_.” He tells her. And it’s the truth. She’s the outlier. Nobody else has even come close to making him feel the way she does. She should know that, too. 

“Do you think that’s bad?” She asks. 

He smiles sadly and strokes a lock of her hair behind her ear, sighing deeply and laying back onto a pillow. “I think it’s just how it is, Tess.” He says. “I don’t know what I’d do if it were any different. I don’t _want_ it to be any different. Do you?” 

She glances downward at his torso and shakes her head as she curls her fingers into a fist on his chest. “But I don't want you to be unhappy.” She says quietly. And he knows what she means - that maybe it's harder to toe the line than to step back completely, but he's never wanted that. Not even when he'd done it. They want different things, so he'll work on his balance, stay right on that line. 

“I’m happy.” He tells her. And he hopes just for this one time that his eyes aren’t as easy to read as hers. 


	4. July 2018

They’re away for some stupid press engagement and Tessa fully embraces it. 

Scott can’t take his eyes off her all night with her dark makeup, hair tied back neatly with a black clip, a few strands falling around her face. She wears a red skirt with a black top, her bare midriff peeking out every now and then.

She’s eyeing some guy, at the banquet in the hotel function room, flirting with him, Scott can tell from across the room where he’s sitting with Cece, talking to some woman from Saskatoon about paella.

He feels his grip tighten on the hem of his jacket when he sees the guy hand Tessa a glass of wine. 

She looks down, rakes her eyes up his entire body in a way that makes Scott grow hot with jealousy - though he won’t admit that’s what it actually is. 

He’s tall with dark hair and a sharp jawline and probably exactly Tessa’s type from what Scott can see of him. 

And then he reaches out and she lets him _touch_ her, his hand on her hip, fingertips just barely under the him of her shirt. 

She glances over at him and his breath hitches in his throat when he sees how dark her eyes are. She offers him a smile like she’s not killing him and turns back to the man in front of her.

_Fuck._

He can’t watch it anymore. 

“Hey, I’m going for a walk.” He tells Cece who’s perfectly comfortable and capable of taking care of herself in a room full of strangers. 

She gives him a look but doesn’t say anything as he walks away. 

He gets to the hotel lobby and walks straight over to the main desk.  “I uh… Lost my room key.” He says to the clerk. “Need a new one.” 

“Name?” The clerk asks with an accent. 

“Virtue.” He says.” 

_And it’s that fucking easy._

He stumbles into the darkness of Tessa’s room, only realising in that moment that he’s tipsy. Immediately he’s comforted by her scent. He can smell her perfume. He flicks on the light and makes his way over to the mini-fridge, pulling a nip of gin out and cracking it open. 

She has a glass set on the desk, red lipstick staining the rim where she’d drank from it. He pours the nip into her glass and drinks, taking a seat at the foot of her bed. 

He doesn’t know why they play these fucking games with each other. He keeps seeing the image of her smiling at him with that guy’s hands on her and it makes him shudder. 

He wonders if she ever feels like that about he and Cece. If she does, she does a fucking fantastic job of hiding it. 

He wonders if it’s her _choice_ in men that irks him most. She always goes for tall, dark, emotionally unavailable, and either years younger or years older, never intending to keep them around very long. 

He takes a long sip of the gin. It burns his throat as it goes down. 

Maybe he wouldn’t mind so much if she would just settle for someone like he has… but then he realises that thought is horrible for so many reasons and he drains the rest of the glass quickly, scolding himself internally for thinking like that. Cece is _not_ settling, he loves her. He does. He plans on _marrying_ her for Gods sake. He gets up and pulls another nip from the fridge, dumping it carelessly into the glass and pressing his lips to the print of hers wondering what Tessa’s aversion to commitment is. 

He thinks it’s probably his fault. Or - not directly. But the fact that she’d been paired with him for their entire lives… they’d had no choices. And he thinks that she’s just… _exploring_ her choices. 

She’s never liked being held down, doesn’t like to be in one place too long, and he can understand it to a point, but only to a point. They’re different people and that’s okay. They have something that exists with or without the presence of a relationship. It’s deeper than that and he knows that, but it still makes it hard to see her… _exploring._

He drains the rest of his gin, wipes his lips with the back of his suit jacket and stands to look out the window, only to be distracted by his immediate surroundings. 

Her clothes are all over the place - a maroon silk blouse, black jeans, green chiffon skirt, white slacks, a pale pink bra and matching panties, socks and silk scarves. Her makeup bag is perched on the window ledge with her lipstick sticking out. He pictures her touching it up just before she left for the night. 

It’s not unfamiliar to be in her space. It doesn’t feel like an intrusion, but part of him is unsure if she’ll see it the same way. He’s not quite sure what she wants their boundaries to be. They’ve never really been any good at defining them. 

The firmest thing they’ve defined lately is the fact that they’re not _fucking_ if Scott’s engaged… but they’re doing just about everything else. 

He lays back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. He’s not even sure why he’s here. He hadn’t particularly had a _plan_ per se, when he got up to leave, he’d just ended up here because he needed to feel like he was closer to Tessa than that idiot she was talking to. He _should_ probably leave, but it smells nice here and he’s feeling the two extra drinks start to hit him. He wonders if Tessa will come back here or if she’ll go home with that guy. 

But just as he pushes himself up in a sitting position, the hotel room door bursts open and Tessa and her _guy_ come barreling in, lips locked intensely, hands all over one another. Scott watches with a sober expression, though he’s anything but. 

The guy pushes the door shut, presses Tessa up against the wall, grabs her ass and makes her inhale sharply. She likes possessiveness when the moment’s right, Scott knows. So when the dude drops his lips to her neck and feels her up she wraps a leg around his waist and tips her head back, eyes closed, that expression on her face that Scott knows so well. She _wants something_ , but not that guy, specifically. She wants _sex_. Scott knows it doesn’t matter to her who with. She’s never been a fan of love stories or rom coms, she always laughs at them, tells him they’re ridiculous. She doesn’t like the idea of destiny, it makes her feel out of control. So this is her twisted way of controlling things. Nobody’s going to tell her who she should be with. She can do whatever she wants. And she _willl_ do whatever she wants, even if she doesn’t _really_ want it. It doesn’t make total logical sense, but Scott understands it. She’s trying to prove herself right. She’s desperate to. 

The guy thrusts against her, pressing her back into the wall and her eyes fly open as she gasps and tightens her grip on his shoulders, rolling her hips to meet his and making him groan. He works a hand between them and touches her and she lets out a little moan that Scott can tell is completely phony, but only serves to embolden the guy as he thrusts against her again. 

Tessa’s eyes wander and she looks slightly frustrated for reasons Scott thinks are obvious - the guy isn't touching her the way she likes to be touched, he's fumbling all over the place, pressing her too hard into the wall... the dude's hips aren't even in the right position to hit her where she needs it when he thrusts against her. He could go on and on, but Tessa turns her head suddenly and catches sight of Scott sitting on the bed. 

Her eyes go wide for a moment and her lips, swollen and red, part slightly. He sees her press her tongue against her cheek. 

He stares her in the eyes, expression void and unwavering. 

She wraps a hand in the guy’s hair and pulls, eliciting a moan from him, another thrust, hitches her leg higher on his hip. 

He touches her again and Tessa keeps her eyes locked on Scott. They’re old pros at it now, finding one another across a room or a rink, tracking the other’s movement, identifying emotion, desire, _need_ no matter what distractions might lie in the way. 

Scott _knows_ she’s not into this guy. Forget about the fact that he has no idea how to touch her body, he’s possessive in all the wrong ways, too haughty - probably pushes the same buttons with every woman he’s with and expects the same reaction each time. 

Tessa’ll decimate him, leave him absolutely emasculated, send him off with his tail between his legs. He’s in way over his head and he has no idea. 

But Scott also knows Tessa’s getting off on the fact that he’s watching from her bed. She likes seeing him look at her like this - possessive in all the _right_ ways, he supposes. There’s a fine line and he’s had years to perfect it, push the limits and find out exactly where she wants him. She’s done the same for him, knows him just as well, otherwise she’d have stopped messing around with this guy as soon as she’d seen him. But Scott likes to know that nobody really knows how to touch her the way he does. He likes to imagine that she’s always this disinterested in her partner when it isn’t with _him_. It’s not out of the realm of possibility. 

He wonders if it’s not all the years between them but the connection they share that makes things click. It frustrates him because Cece is great, but it doesn’t ever feel close to how it is with Tessa. And he finds himself scared by the thought that maybe it never will.

“So wet.” He hears the guy grumble, his voice muffled by her neck and the hair he’s pulled (too roughly for Scott’s liking) out of her bun. 

“Yeah.” Tessa says softly, her eyes boring into Scott’s and he feels his cock press painfully against the zipper of his pants. 

He pushes at his erection, just trying to relieve some of the pressure for a moment, and the sight makes Tessa close her eyes and whimper. 

“You like that?” The guy says, mistakenly thinking she’s whimpering for _him,_ his hand disappearing somewhere between them. It’s all Scott can take. 

He leans forward, trying his best to hide his arousal and clears his throat. 

The guy immediately straightens up, drops Tessa’s leg, pulls back. 

“Woah. What the fuck?” He looks over at Tessa who’s eyes had flown open the moment Scott had decided to interrupt. He knows she’s wondering what triggered him, collecting data on how far she can push him. Truthfully he'd tapped out the moment he'd seen her talking to him downstairs. Most of this was for her sake - him figuring she’d get off on the way it felt for him to be watching. He’d only given in because he simply couldn’t take anymore.

“You know this guy?” The idiot says, turning to Tessa. He obviously has no idea who either of them are and Scott’s thankful for it. 

Tessa doesn’t answer him, just stares at Scott. He can’t tell if she’s more pissed off or turned on but he’s hard as hell for her, the way she’s looking at him with those dark eyes, the normally pale white column of her neck red where the guy had been sucking on her. 

“Yeah, she knows me.” Scott says, a bit more aggressively than maybe he should, but alcohol’s never made him anything but bold. 

The guy turns back to Tessa. “Is he going to leave?” He says lowly to her. 

Scott snorts until he sees the intensity in Tessa’s eyes. His breath hitches in his throat.  
She keeps her eyes locked on his for a moment longer before turning to her suitor and shaking her head. “No. He’s not.” She opens the door for him without a hint of apology and the guy scoffs and looks between the two of them as if he's waiting for a different outcome, but when neither of them speak he leaves in peace, pulling at his pants and cursing under his breath. 

Tessa closes the door behind her and leans against it, returning her gaze to Scott. “Don’t remember giving you a room key.”

“Yeah, you didn’t.” He says. 

She straightens up and kicks her heels off. 

“Real winner, that guy, eh?” He motions to the door.

Tessa opens the mini-fridge. “You drank my gin.” She observes as she pulls out a nip of vodka. 

“You don’t like gin.” He says, kicking his own shoes off and letting his gaze fall to the curve of her waist just as she she turns to face him. 

“You’ve been looking at me like that all night.” She says, drinking straight from the plastic bottle as his eyes meet hers once more. 

Scott catches another glimpse of the small red mark on her neck as she tilts her head back to swallow. 

“You like it.” He says lowly and she approaches him, coming so close that his thigh is between her legs, her long skirt pushed back tightly so he can see the outline of her thighs pressing through the fabric. 

“Oh, do I?” She scoffs. 

Scott pulls the hem of her skirt up so he can slip a hand under and up the inside of her thigh, causing her to quiet immediately. He trails his hand all the way up her thigh and across her centre where she's soaked through her panties. "Yeah." He says, "It seems like you do." 

Tessa rolls her eyes, but he sees her cheeks flush and he smiles self satisfactorily, dropping his hand back down her her mid thigh. “Can’t believe you let that idiot touch you.” He says, his fingers tracing circles. 

“I think you liked watching.” She says when she works up the moxie to speak again, and he thinks she must be teasing because she knows he can’t stand the sight of her with other men but she likes to see the way he sets his jaw, his whole body tightening with jealousy. He scoffs, trying not to give her the satisfaction, but his body’s never lied to her.  So he grabs the vodka from her and takes a swig while she watches, only to grab it back and finish it off right after. 

He sets his hands on her hips, slips them beneath the crop of her shirt, leans forward and presses his forehead to her abdominals. She’s strong as he’s ever felt and he can see the very top of her navel piercing glint at him, so he tilts himself forward and presses an open mouthed kiss to the skin that’s visible there. Her hand knots in his hair and pulls and he finds the burn so very _comfortable._

He feels the fabric under his forehead pulled away and raises his head to see Tessa in her bra, black and _mesh_ , so he can see her nipples, hard and _pink_ through it. 

He sighs softly because he knows he’s never going to find anything he likes looking at more than her body and it’s slightly frustrating. 

His hands run along the waist of her skirt before pushing it down, and she lets him, pulling back from his thigh to rid herself of it completely. 

He looks her over, mesh panties to match the bra and he feels his cock twitch in his pants. When he returns his eyes to hers he realises she’s looking at his erection like she’s studying a menu, trying to decide what to order. 

“Fuck.” He mutters and her eyes snap up to his, dark and intentional. She steps forward and presses on his chest, pushing him onto his back and climbing onto the bed, straddling his waist, her pussy pressed to the outline of his dick. 

He shuts his eyes and grunts, his hands moving to her hips, but she takes them and brings them to her breasts. 

He follows her cue, kneads her there and she lets her hands fall away because she doesn’t need to tell him what to do - he knows. 

He plucks her nipples, brushes his thumbs over them, feels the way they strain against the mesh. He presses his hips upward and she grinds down on him. 

He smooths an open hand over her breasts to the centre of her chest and then up to the base of her neck, drawing his thumb across the notch where her clavicles meet her sternum and she tilts her head back, prompting him to go further, run his hand all the way up her neck to her jaw where he grasps her and pulls her down. 

They kiss hotly and sloppily, panting between each other, before Tessa pulls back and sits up, sliding up his body so that she’s sitting on his chest, so that he can see her cunt, glistening and wet through the mesh. 

“What were you waiting for?” She asks him, and he realises for the first time that maybe she’d wanted him to interrupt _sooner._

He just looks at her for a moment before taking his hand and running his thumb up her slit, pressing gently against the mesh and feeling her desire as the pressure parts her lips for him. He stops at her clit, rolls his thumb over it and feels the way she tenses. 

And then something comes over him, a jealous sort of brutishness, and he looks up at her. “Who are you wet for? Me, or him?” He asks gruffly, already knowing the answer. He wants to hear her say it. 

She licks her lips and rolls her eyes like it’s a stupid question, but he can feel the way it made her pussy clench, and he sports a bit of a smug expression until she shoots back, “Who are you hard for? Me, or her?” 

A sound not unlike a growl erupts from him and he pulls her forward by the back of her thighs, jerking her forward so she has to reach for the headboard to straighten herself up and adjust her position so that her drenched cunt is over his face. 

He presses up and runs the tip of his nose against the mesh, feeling her heat and taking in the scent of her desire as he feels her part for him once more. 

And then he presses upward so that he can do the same with his tongue, stopping at her clit to suck it gently through the fabric and making her thighs tremble on either side of his face. 

He glances up and she’s cupping one of her breasts, her eyes shut tightly. 

He pulls the mesh aside and repeats his action, running his tongue over her slit, tasting her, sucking on her folds and then nuzzling her clit and humming against it until she bucks her hips. 

He grabs her hip with his free hand and presses her down further until all he can feel or smell or taste or see is her. 

She pulls on his hair, whining softly, angling herself forward and trying to direct him. He smiles against her because he _knows._ He knows just what angle she wants, knows exactly where to kiss her, where to suck, when to rake his teeth over her, exactly what pressure she likes applied… he has it all seared into his brain, permanent knowledge as relevant as any piece of information he’s ever needed to know, as reflexive and natural as moving with her on the ice. He knows what she wants, and _she_ knows that he knows it. But he wants to make her work for it tonight since he had to watch her put on that little show for him.

So, with her panties still pulled to the side, he teases her entrance, moaning softly at the way she tastes and nuzzling her clit, pushing upward in short strokes until he has her rocking against him, following his rhythm. 

When he stops she pulls at his hair desperately and he smiles because he could keep this up all night, but he hears her voice suddenly, soft and dripping with sweetness but broken like she’s begging him for something. “ _Scott_.” 

He’s never been able to deny her a thing. She has him so weak for her without even trying. She doesn’t even know it most of the time. It’s the years holding her hand, looking into her eyes, breathing the same breath. It’s the fact that her hands get cold in the mornings and her feet get cold as the day wears on, the fact that she still has those freckles scattered over her nose and cheeks and across her chest and down her arms, how she likes her coffee sweet just like pretty much everything else she puts in her mouth, how she pouts her bottom lip when she’s upset, completely unaware that it makes her look as innocent as a snow and as sinful as a devil at the same time, how she still gets overly excited every time she finds a penny on the ground, how she sets her jaw anytime someone implies that she can’t do something, how she blushes for others but almost _never_ for him, how she has those scars on her legs that their dreams are sewn into, how she laughs without restraint when she thinks there’s nobody but him around to hear it. It’s how she likes to steal his French fries and hog his blankets and suck all the heat out of him when she’s cold, how she laughs at all his jokes - even the stupid ones, smiles at him like he’s the best thing she’s ever seen, and texts him whenever she sees a cute dog. It’s everything about her, really, and he can’t ever refuse or withhold or decline her if there’s something she wants, especially if it’s contingent upon him and him alone. She’s his Tess. And he’s powerless when it comes down to it. 

So he kisses her clit the same way he likes to kiss her mouth - sweetly, soothingly, like he’s telling her that he _knows_. Of course he knows, and he feels her grip on his hair abate at the relief he offers. 

He sucks on her, pulling her between his teeth and laps at her with his tongue until her voice is hoarse and catching in her throat along with her breath, and when he knows she absolutely can’t stand it any longer, he thrusts his tongue inside of her - just once because she’s already right there on the edge, and with his nose at her clit and her hips at the right angle it’s all she needs, clenching tightly around him, both her hands on the headboard as she comes with a loud whimper, her thighs shaking against his cheeks. 

And then he kisses her again softly with a bit of suction because he knows how sensitive she is and he enjoys the way she gasps at the feeling. He laps long strokes across her slit as he drinks in as much of her as he can. And then he feels her hand on his chest, bracing against him and he stops, helps her swing her leg over him and sprawl out on the bedspread next to him. 

“I’m drunk.” She says. “Sorry.” 

He pushes himself up on an elbow, smoothing his hair back out of his face and licking his lips. “Why?” 

“Am I drunk?” She asks. “Because it’s a nice way to dissociate in a room of people who like to make up stories about you. I thought you’d know that by now.” 

Scott blinks. “I meant why are you sorry.” He says quietly, his hand splaying out across her chest, searching for her heartbeat. He finds it thrumming as strong as it always is. 

“Oh.” She says. “I don’t know… for bringing her up.” 

“You didn’t bring her up.” He says. “Not directly.” 

She shakes her head. “That was wrong of me.” 

“I liked it.” He says, curling his fingers against her chest, his eyes fixed there, feeling like he might be able to collect some of her freckles for himself. He had liked it, the fire behind her words and the knowledge that he's only ever hard like that for her. “Plus, I’m the one who broke into your hotel room.” He adds quietly, eyes still fixed on her chest. 

“Yeah.” She sighs. “I liked it.” 

He looks up to her then, surprised. “Did you?” 

She keeps her lips pressed together tightly but nods. 

He trails his fingers across her chest, tracing the outline of the mesh over the swells and dips of her breasts. “You don’t have to fuck these assholes that don’t know how to touch you.” He says, looking down again, reaching under her.

She arches her back slightly so he can undo the clasp of her bra with one hand and slide it down her arms, tossing it toward the foot of the bed. 

He studies her for a moment - not a mark on her now, save for the one he’d made at her throat. The little red spot from that idiot she’d brought back with her had faded. She shuts her eyes and sighs deeply as he strokes his fingers across one breast, teasing the hard nub of her nipple between his fingers. 

“I have to fuck _someone_.” She says, eyes still closed. 

Scott dips his head, laves his tongue over her nipple, sucks it into his mouth, rakes his teeth across it and lets it go with a pop, making her quiver. He traces around it with his tongue, then moves upward, licking and sucking and kissing all the way up her neck, along her jaw and up to her ear where he whispers lowly, rolling her nipple through this fingers now, “Fuck _me_.” 

Tessa opens her eyes and pushes at his chest. “You’re engaged.” 

Scott watches her push herself up off the bed and head for the mini fridge for another drink, but he gets up and intercepts her before she can. He thinks back to their teenage days when she’d do the same for him. He knows she doesn’t have a problem, in fact, she hardly ever drinks unless it’s social, and only ever gets drunk when they’re away, forced to be out, forced to play these stupid roles. She needs a little help getting though and alcohol is an easy crutch, but it doesn’t mean he’ll let her use it. Plus, she’s a lightweight and he doesn’t want to her puking all over the place if he’s not going to be there to help. 

“ _Scott_.” She complains, but he shakes his head. “You can fuck whoever you want.” He says, “But I’m not letting you get plastered.” 

She looks at him for a moment like she’s debating on something and then sinks to her knees and the sight of it makes Scott tremble. Her hands move to his pants, running her palm along the line of his hard cock, pressed taught against the fabric of his pants. 

“You must have liked it a little.” She says, pulling his button loose and unzipping his pants slowly. She holds his hips and looks up at him. “watching me.” And he realises that she wasn’t teasing earlier and he knows that he should have known better because he’s never been able to hide a thing from her. 

He chews his lip and gives her a curt nod. He’d liked it _a little_. Only because he’d gotten to see how utterly inept others were with her. It made him feel better that he’s the only one that can really give her what she needs… or he would be if she’d let him. 

She tugs his pants down and his boxer briefs shortly after, freeing his cock. He watches her face, watches her eyes light up in that way they do when she really wants something. It’s such a fucking turn on. 

“What did you want from him?” Scott asks her, his voice breaking as she wraps her hand around him, starts to stroke him slowly. He leans forward and braces his hands on the desk in front of him.

She raises herself up on her knees, her lips maddeningly close to his cock. He feels the warm release of precum begin to drip from him and moans softly as she uses her thumb to smooth it over his tip. 

“What do you think I wanted?” She asks, looking up at him with that challenge in her eyes. 

He strokes a hand through her hair. “He wouldn’t be able to give it to you.” Scott says, shaking his head, his breath heavy as she strokes him. “He wouldn’t.” 

She looks up at him for a moment and he sees something in her, an acknowledgment, a concession, a loss. “I know.” She says softly and presses her lips to the tip of him, kissing him there gently. 

He loses his breath as he watches her, their eyes locked, his hand tightening in her hair. 

“Do you ever think maybe we could… maybe we…” He chokes on his words as she sucks on him, takes him deeper, her tongue working him. “Mh… Tess.” He breathes, clutching her hair with both hands now. He knows she likes it when he does that and he’s rewarded by her pressing forward as far as she can comfortably manage, almost nuzzling his groin before pulling back and releasing him only to stroke him unforgivingly. 

“We’ve had this conversation.” She says, and he appreciates that she’s not ignoring him in his attempts to ask her if they’ve really tried _everything._ But have they? Have they exhausted every iteration? It’s hard to know for sure. She’s so intent on them being romantically incompatible when they’re so excruciatingly physically compatible that they resort to _this_ even while Scott’s fiancée is just downstairs. Everyone’s always tried to push them together and Tessa’s always been so intent on proving them wrong because she hates anything that feels predetermined for her. And he knows they want different things. He knows this but he thinks that’s why compromise was invented, wasn’t it? But when he thinks about the compromises they’d have to make he admits it does scare him. He doesn’t think either of them would be truly happy and the thought is hard to swallow because he’s always wanted her to have everything. He’s always been terrified of letting her down or holding her back. So he can’t ask her to compromise, not genuinely, because he doesn’t want her to. He doesn’t ever want her to settle, and he couldn’t handle the thought of her clipping her wings for him. 

But she doesn’t seem happy now, either. 

“ _Fuck.”_ He chokes as she takes him back in her mouth, swallowing him so deeply he feels her gag. She normally doesn’t push herself that far and he wonders if it’s because she’s inebriated. And _Jesus_ , she won’t let up, pulling back and then taking him almost all the way to the hilt, and Scott’s brain turns to mush, a string of half-coherent curses flowing from his mouth as he watches her. And then she pulls off of him completely, watches his cock twitch and smirks like she’s proud of her work before standing and pressing her body flush against his. She tucks her head under his chin, holds his shoulders, her fingers pressing into the muscle like she’s taking stock of him, ticking boxes on a checklist. 

“It’s me, Tess.” He says hoarsely, because for some reason he’s not sure she believes it. She presses her hips closer, his cock throbbing between them and rolls herself against him. He feels the wet heat of her cunt straight through the mesh and he grunts. 

“I’m drunk.” She says, repeating herself from earlier. 

“I know.” He says, running a hand down her back. Her fingers press harder into his shoulder and he feels the sting of her nails against his skin. 

“I want you.” She says softly and he can’t help the way his hips react to the sentiment, with a soft nudge against her. 

“I know.” He says again, his voice gruff but gentle. And he does know. They’ve always been that way, have always wanted one another. He doesn’t fully understand why she chooses to limit them now. As far as he’s concerned, what they’re doing isn’t any more or less moral than full sex, but it’s been this way ever since he’d told her about the engagement. 

She releases one of his shoulders and snakes her hand between them, taking his cock and running it through her wet folds making him tremble when he feels it. He lowers his face, presses his forehead to her neck, his lips to her collarbone and he sighs deeply. He can sense her hesitation. He wouldn’t let her do it now even if she’d wanted to. Not while she’s drunk. He won’t let her regret anything, won’t take the chance that she might, so he takes her wrist and she releases him, letting him guide her hand back up to his shoulder. He likes it there, likes the way it feels to have her holding on to him. He’s always liked that feeling - whether they’re in front of thousands of people or it’s just the two of them, it doesn’t matter so long as they’re touching. 

“How’s this?” He asks, because while he won’t fuck her, he also won’t ever leave her dissatisfied if he can help it. So he holds her hips tight, pressing her thighs together and thrusting into the small triangle of space left just beneath her pussy. 

She purrs lustfully as he brushes past her clit, their wetness mixing between them, making every movement he makes so fucking _easy._

“Yeah?” He asks, pulling back and then thrusting through again. 

She lets her head roll back, another deep purr escaping her as he strokes over her clit, and he dips his head down to work his mouth over her neck. 

She helps him set the pace, her hips rocking forward when she wants more, and when he feels they way she’s rocking against him, his mouth back on her breast, he presses her back and she releases his shoulders, her arms going back, hands bracing on the desk behind her so he can move faster. 

It’s rough and needy and he hears Tessa’s voice breathy in his ear, “More.” She tells him, and fuck, she’s so wet for him and the way it feels to slide through her folds, knowing every time he does it he’s stroking with his cock makes him feel like he’s going to explode. He’s rocking his hips desperately against her now, giving her all she can take and she’s so close - he can tell by the way the muscles of her legs are trembling in his grasp and _fuck_ he loves her legs. She tenses them as he thrusts into her and squeezes his cock and he has no idea if she does it on purpose or if it’s just a coincidence but it sends him over the edge and he presses forward at the same time she does, their lips joining to muffle the sound of themselves as they come, Tessa in slow, steady waves, and Scott in fitful grunts, still rocking his hips against her, bringing them both down as gently as he can because he can feel how Tessa’s legs have gone weak and he can’t even feel his at all. 

Her hands move back to his shoulders, holding tightly again, and he slows his pace as he sucks on her bottom lip, luxuriating in the way they feel together, the stickiness between them. Tessa’s leaning on him now, and he’s not sure how he’s even holding _himself_ up with how unsteady he’s feeling, but he doesn’t want this to stop, he doesn’t want it to end. He doesn’t want to leave. 

When he pulls back to look at her he groans deeply at the sight, she’s completely bare, her pussy covered in his come. 

She looks down at herself, lips parted as she sighs and touches herself like she just wants to feel it - feel what they’ve done to each other yet again. 

She shuts her eyes tightly and he works up the strength to lift her, carry her over to the bed and sit her there at the foot of it, sinking to his knees on the carpet before her. He parts her legs, drapes them over his shoulders and cleans her off with his tongue slowly, languidly, forcing one final orgasm from her before kissing her inner thigh and looking up at her. She looks broken and it breaks him in turn. 

“I could stay.” He whispers softly, his hands skimming over the tops of her thighs.

She shakes her head. 

He knows just as well as she does that he can’t. Where the hell would he tell Cece he’d gotten off to? Passed out in the lobby or something? But if she’d wanted him to stay… if Tessa asked him to stay, he’d do it in a heartbeat, consequences be damned. 

“But if you want me to -“ He says, just so she knows that he will, but she shakes her head before he even finishes. “She’ll miss you.” She says, her hand reaching out to stroke his hair understandingly. She knows he’d stay. She does. He can tell. But he can’t help himself when he says, “Will _you_ miss me?” 

She smiles melancholically at him and runs her hand down his cheek. “Always.” She says. 

He makes sure she’s okay, that she has everything she needs, that she plugs her phone in to charge and actually drinks at least _some_ of the water he gets for her, before he leaves. And when he steps out into the bright hotel hallway and closes the faux wooden door behind him he reaches into his back pocket and slips the keycard to her room that he’d duped the clerk into giving him under her door. 

It was wrong of him to hijack her hotel room, but he doesn’t regret it. He has a lot of regrets in his life but Tessa will never be one of them. 


	5. December 2011

“It wasn’t that bad.” He says, running his hand through his hair. It’s shorter now and Tessa tries not to have an opinion. 

He squints his eyes, still panting. 

She shrugs. _Not bad_ never won anything. 

“Hey, we’ll get it.” He says. “We’re going to get it.” 

“What if we don’t?” She asks, letting herself fall back onto the hard wooden bench and folding over herself to untie her skates. 

“We’re going to.” He says. “Don’t talk like that.” He plops himself down right beside her and mimics her posture, which makes her hyperaware that her spine is curved distastefully and she thinks for a moment that maybe that’s why the practice had felt so rough. She straightens herself out, gets her skates off and reaches for her shoes when she feels Scott’s hand on her knee. 

“Relax.” He tells her. 

She can feel the stress in every part of her body - pulling at her shoulders, cutting the blood flow from her back, numbing her arms, throbbing in her temples - even her legs feel tight. 

“You have to relax.” 

He’s not just spewing some banal partner-driven platitude at her and she appreciates that. She’s spewed so many of them at cameras lately that she can hardly stand to hear another one. 

“I’m fine.” She tells him, pushing herself up, watching his hand slide from her knee. 

* * *

He drives her home that night and she watches his hands on the steering wheel. She likes the way his hands look when they’re occupied, likes the way his tendons flex and twitch, likes when he reaches over with two fingers and flicks on the blinker like it’s nothing. She’s watched him doing these very actions for so long now she’s not sure why it isn’t the most boring thing in the world, but it’s not. The truth is, Scott’s passenger seat is one of the most relaxing places in the world to her. 

Even now, when it seems like he can be hot and cold with regards to her, it’s still exactly where she wants to be. 

They aren’t even listening to music tonight. Neither of them had even reached for the radio dial. Sometimes it’s not needed. Sometimes it distracts from the _nothing_ and the _everything_ that sitting here beside one another in a cold metal box with artificial heat blasting in their faces and dark snowscapes outside the cold glass brings them. 

Nobody bothers them here. 

They can be whoever they want to be. They can say whatever pops into their minds. Or conversely, say nothing at all. They don’t have to answer _any_ questions, aren’t forced to analyse movement or track anything (except maybe Scott who has to keep his eyes somewhat focused on the car in front of them). But over the entire course of her day, this is the place she looks forward to being the most. 

She literally _can’t_ do anything here. Her responsibility is to sit here behind a seatbelt. That’s all that’s required of her. And it’s fucking relaxing. 

Nobody can bother them, nobody can judge them, critique them, nobody can even _talk_ to them. 

She exhales a deep breath and sees Scott’s mouth turn up into a sly smile out of the corner of her eye. 

She wants to ask him what he’s so smug about but she can’t bring herself to pierce the perfect silence that they’re shrouded in. 

And he seems to feel similarly because he doesn’t say a word either. One small car tracing along the cold black asphalt to the right of the double yellow line. They could be anyone in here. They could be Tessa and Scott two ice dancers… or they could be Tessa and Scott, two best friends driving home from a bar, or Tessa and Scott, boyfriend and girlfriend returning from a date, or Tessa and Scott, two strangers that met at the supermarket, one who decided to give the other a lift home. They could be bank tellers or bank _robbers_ , misplaced surfers, mountain climbers, astronauts, teachers, spies, spouses, enemies, lovers… anything they want. Because cars are a liminal space, someplace to await a destination. And when they reach their destination, when they break that seal, let the cold Michigan air flood in, they’ll be Tessa and Scott, two Olympians training for another gold medal, Scott the outgoing one who seems to hardly need to put any effort at all into things, and Tessa, queen of effort, who’s worked nitpicking down to a science and allegedly, according to rink gossip, is a disgusting slut not nearly good enough to be skating with someone like Scott. It's a lot for her to process, and in here, she doesn't have to. But when she gets out of this car she knows she’ll feel the pressure of all of it once more, pulling on her shoulders, shooting down her back, burrowing itself in her jaw. 

She’s tired of hearing about what people think of them - of _her._ She’s tired of the way people look at her. She’s tired of being the pariah at the rink and the good girl to the media. 

Today had been especially brutal, overhearing bits and pieces of the things they said about her. She’s embarrassed and upset and frustrated. 

“They’re idiots, if that’s what you’re thinking about.” Scott says, one hand on the wheel, the other attached to the arm he has resting on the lip of the car door against the window. 

Tessa looks up at him. “That’s not what I’m thinking about.” She says (it is).

“Okay.” He says. And there’s silence again but for the rhythmic clicking of the car blinker as Scott makes a right hand turn. 

Tessa wishes the drive home were longer, wishes they could stay locked up in this little bubble for a bit more. Just a bit. 

So she reaches over and rests her hand on Scott’s thigh. 

She sees his cheek hollow out as he clenches his jaw, watches his knuckles turn white on the wheel and she slides her hand further up his leg. 

He keeps his eyes on the road but straightens up a bit. 

They don’t _always_ do this, in fact, they _rarely_ do. But they _have_. Enough times to know how to make one another’s toes curl. 

But right now she’s quiet, observant, trying not to make it her job, trying not to track his movements, his reactions. She just wants this a little bit longer, just the two of them with nothing else around them, and nothing else on their minds. 

“I like your shirt.” She says. It must be years old - she’s seen it so many times before but has never commented - it’s just a grey heather shirt with a small black loon in the centre which he’s wearing under an unzipped black hoodie. She doesn’t even know what it means, what the significance of the loon is in this context. But it doesn’t matter because she doesn’t want significance right now. She wants face value, bottom line, sum and substance. 

“Mhm.” He hums. “I like your hand.” 

“Do you?” She asks, sliding it up further. She squeezes his thigh, massages the muscle there. He’s so solid, strong. She thinks his alter ego is maybe a hockey player. Or maybe soccer. She settles on soccer but tries not to write him too many details or she’ll get carried away with that too. Details are her vice lately. She finds herself getting far too caught up in the minutia. So tonight she’s choosing a different vice, something simple and natural, carnal and fucking _real_. No more acting. It seems like their whole lives are acting now and she’s fucking tired of that, too. So she tries to focus on this reality. It’s role play because they can’t escape it, their whole lives have been role play, so tonight she’s playing the role of the _real_ Tessa Virtue, whoever that is. 

He presses his head back against the head rest and widens his legs slightly as she strokes her hand up his inner thigh. 

“You looked really pretty in your dress.” He says softly, referring to the one she’d tried skating in earlier just for practice. 

Tessa doesn’t answer him. She doesn’t want to talk about any of that. 

“Did you like it?” He asks, rolling his head to the side to look at her. 

She gives him a slight shake of her head.

He glances down at her before returning his eyes to the road. 

He’s silent for a moment longer as she continues stroking her way up his thigh, exploring the muscle there, taking her time, hoping to draw out this liminality for as long as possible. Before they have to be the world’s _‘Tessa and Scott’_ again. 

She reaches the apex of his thigh, where it meets his hip and he parts his legs further, grunting softly.

She trails her fingers absentmindedly over his cock and then slips them under his grey t-shirt, her nails pulling gently at the thin trail of hair he has beneath his navel. 

“Tess.” He says softly. 

“Can I?” She asks. “Please?” 

He makes a funny garbled sound when she says it and she smiles because she knows he loves it when she asks like that. 

He nods. “Yeah.” He switches his hands on the wheel, steering now with his left hand and looping his right around the back of her seat to give her better access. She angles herself toward him, runs a hand up his chest, lets her fingers bump over his abs as she trails it back down, and slips them under the waist of his sweats and boxers. 

She grips him loosely, refamiliarising herself with the weight of him, half hard, in her hand. He’s slightly sticky and she knows she’s done that to him, but his skin is soft and she can feel the way it reacts to his touch, growing harder beneath the surface like it’s reaching out for her. She likes to imagine that anyway, but she knows it does this for everyone. It was the same for those girls he took home after the party, that one he’d exchanged numbers with at their last competition, the one from Arizona who came to train at the rink for a week, the one he’d met at the cinema, all of them, and who knows how many more. She’s one of many and nothing special. So she’s not sure why everyone at the rink singles her out like _she’s_ the one sleeping around. 

She sighs because she’s not supposed to be thinking about this. She doesn’t want to think about it. She sees Scott glance over at her, that smirk playing on his face once more and she gives him one in return, uses those big eyes she knows he likes and slides her hand all the way down the smooth length of him and back up, drawing her fingers over his tip so he makes that low grumbly sound in the back of his throat as he returns his eyes to the road. 

Tessa watches his body, the way his chest tightens, the way he pushes his hips toward her touch, pressing himself into her palm, the way his jaw sets as he adjust his grip on the wheel. He’s beautiful, the way he moves, the way he feels, the way he carries himself in space. And everyone loves him. How could they not? Sometimes she wonders why he even puts up with her. She thinks he must hear the things they say about her. Maybe that’s why he thinks she’s doing this now. But she doesn’t think the _real_ Tessa Virtue is a slut. She just wants to be close to Scott tonight. 

But while she’s debating this, she starts to wonder how horrible of a person she has to be to be around someone as golden as Scott as often as she is and not have any of it rub off on her. There’s not a single thing about her that’s like him. She’s quiet where he’s outgoing, anxious where he’s confident, weak where he’s strong. She hates herself for it and she thinks there must be a part of him that hates her too, just like everyone else. How could he not? She must be holding him back from a great many things. Sometimes she’s not sure why he still skates with her.

She’s snapped out of the thoughts she’s not supposed to be entertaining by a long, low moan from Scott. She’s stroking him lazily, teasing him so that he’s fully hard now, and she can feel the way he’s throbbing in her hand. 

“You’re going to kill us, T.” He chuckles at himself. 

“You the one driving.” She shoots back, mustering a smile as she twists her wrist and makes him quiver. 

“Fuck.” He sputters. 

She likes how hot and hard and sticky everything is. Maybe it _is_ dirty and maybe she _does_ like that, just like everyone says she does. 

“Pull over.” She says softly, her voice sweet because she knows he’ll do it if she speaks to him that way. 

He looks over at her like he can’t quite tell if she’s serious, so she repeats herself, “Pull over, Scott.” And she punctuates physically by pressing her palm flat to the head of his cock and rolling it over him in a circular motion so that his breath hitches in his throat and his hips twitch. He nods. “Yeah.” He chokes, “Let me just find somewhere.” 

She closes her fist around him and applies pressure, leaving her hand in place and he grunts in frustration, trying to rock his hips up to fuck her fist but failing in an attempt not to crash the car. It makes Tessa smile. 

He finally pulls into the dark car park in the back of a closed strip mall, navigates them even further into the shadows and throws the car in park, switching the ignition off and looking over at her like she’s torturing him. “What are you trying to do to me?” He asks. 

She raises her brow and tightens her grip on him, feeling his precum leak over her fingers. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Ah, _fuck_ , Tess.” He grunts and begins to thrust his hips now that he has nothing else he needs to focus on and she watches him fucking her hand, still hidden away in his sweats. The few times they'd done it before had been out of curiosity to begin with and then maybe seeking comfort or… or just because it felt good, she thinks, and that makes her feel dirty. But they don’t do it often. And when you’re forced to exercise such extreme restraint in every aspect of your life, you’re bound to slip up occasionally and go the other way. She knows it’s bad, the same way it feels on cheat days when she has ice cream. Even calling it that - _cheat_ day - makes it feel dirty on it’s own, like something she shouldn’t be doing. And she’s torn on how she feels about it. Parts of her are so good at ignoring her own needs, pushing them down as far as they’ll go, duct-taping their whining mouths shut so that she can focus on being better, stronger, faster, more focused. She tries her best to turn herself into a machine and she’s really quite good at it. She’s so good at it that she has to force cheat days for Scott’s sake, because he won’t let her skip them, even though they’re inherently _bad._ And she knows she shouldn’t think that way, her therapist would take issue with it. She’s like a dog, she thinks, only seeing things in black and white. Scott sees every colour out there and she knows it. She wishes she could too, but she’s not good enough. And if she ever hopes to be, then black and white is what she thinks will get her there. It’s simple, refined, and easy enough to adhere to. So when Scott pressures her into ice cream on cheat days she tells herself it’s for their partnership, because if he’s too worried about her she’ll only be dragging him down further. 

The sex is only slightly different. She knows that’s bad, too. Anything that makes her feel that good has to be bad, she reasons, because her whole life has been built around the idea that hard work and sacrifice are what’s needed to get what you want, and anything else is fluff - unnecessary at best, hindering and distracting, detracting from performance at worst. And she’s a master of restraint, of deprivation. She can strip herself of almost every comfort she’s ever known - home, warmth, safety, nourishment, friendship, belonging - but she can’t keep herself from this one. And so she thinks that’s probably what the other skaters see in her. This dark need to be the dirtiest kind of dirty. She’s always the extreme of something, restraint or licentiousness. And she's  always liked to ‘exceed expectation’, so why should these expectations be any different? If they think she’s some filthy slut then maybe she should be. Maybe she _is_. Maybe the real Tessa Virtue _is_ like that. It’s so hard to know who the real Tessa is lately. 

Scott’s breath is heavy and his hips snap up with greater urgency. She looks up and feels her stomach flip when she realises he’s been watching her watch him. His eyes are dark and the look on his face is something unfamiliar. 

“Do you like that?” He asks lowly.

She blinks at him, beginning to stroke him along with the rhythm of his hips and he presses his head back against the seat and grunts.

“Yeah.” She says quietly. Her pussy’s throbbing and the warm wetness feels uncomfortable now, enforcing her belief that she’s _dirty._ “Will you do it to me?” 

His eyes open quickly and he turns to her. “Do what?” He asks, his voice quivering. 

“Fuck me.” She says, nodding to his tented sweats. “Like that.” 

“Jesus.” He whispers. “Yeah. You want that?” 

She nods and he reaches for the car keys he’d dropped unceremoniously in the cup holder. “What are you doing?” She asks, slightly confused. 

“I was going to take you home…” He says. “But we can go to mine if you want. My bed’s kind of a mess, though.”

_Bed?_

She shakes her head and pulls her hand from his sticky warmth, unbuckling her seatbelt and climbing over the centre console to settle in his lap, mindful of the steering wheel behind her. 

“Like this.” She says, pulling at the waist of his pants. 

He sets his hands on her hips and she rolls them so she can feel the hard length of him against her. 

“Tess, I think-“ 

“Please?” She asks, pouting, enjoying the look of utter captivation on his face. It’s the only time she feels powerful. 

He presses forward, lowers his face between her breasts and sort of nuzzles her there. She thinks it’s funny until his hand pulls at the zipper of her jacket, and then the neck of her shirt, and she feels his mouth on her, his lips and tongue working over the swell of one breast, the valley between and then onto the other. She rocks her hips against him, wishing there weren’t so many layers between the two of them before deciding to do something about it. 

She pulls back from him, feeling the steering wheel just against her low back as she hastily removes her jacket and whips off her shirt. She peels her sports bra off and his mouth immediately finds her breast, the hardened bud of her nipple, and teases it with his tongue, his fingers twisting the other. “Harder.” She says, her hand joining his and helping him squeeze her until it burns deliciously. 

She whines and drops her hands, busying herself with their pants. It’s a bit of a struggle but she manages to get hers down to her knees, along with her panties and Scott raises his hips so she can help with his. The windows are fogged now and she thinks they’re firmly shrouded in this liminality, just like she’d wanted, only it doesn’t feel like it normally does. They’re in her head - those voices that tell her she’s disgusting, dirty, not good enough, less than, worthless, incapable. Not even being here with Scott can block them out so she chooses to embrace them then, to _exceed their expectations_ , and she sinks down on Scott’s cock before either of them can prepare for it. 

Scott reflexively thrusts his hips, driving him even deeper and Tessa feels the burn of it in her core, throwing her head back, her hands flying to his, forcing him to squeeze her nipples ever harder. 

Scott moans languidly and Tessa sighs like it’s a relief. 

But then he lets go of her to brush a strand of hair from her face. It’s a soft gesture and it disarms her slightly. It’s not _bad_ the way she thinks she should be. “Harder.” She says to compensate, digging her nails into his shoulders. “ _Harder_ , Scott.” She presses back, trying to force it, but he holds her hips. 

“Easy.” He says softly, smiling slightly. “I got you.” 

She shakes her head in frustration. She doesn’t want to be _easy._ She wants to _hurt_ because it’s what she feels inside, because it’s what everyone expects, because she thinks it’s probably what he wants too, whether he’ll admit it or not. 

“ _Fuck_ me.” She demands, twisting her hips, trying to free herself from the way he’s suspended her, keeping her from sinking any deeper. “I _need_ you to.” She says, desperately. 

“Okay.” He says softly - too softly for her liking. He thrusts up into her, and it’s slow and hot and it feels _good_. And she hates that because she doesn’t feel like she deserves it, doesn’t feel like Tessa the _slut_ deserves it, so she uses his shoulders for leverage, pulling herself up and pressing herself down on his cock forcefully. She can tell he _likes_ it by the way his body reacts. She feels his cock twitch inside of her, the way his breath hitches, the way he fights that deep moan she knows is in the back of his throat. But he stills her again like it’s not what he wants. 

“Tess.” He says. “Hey, relax.” 

She feels his voice cut right into her. She’s steels herself to the criticism, the comments, the sneers and gossip about her, but the moment someone tries to be soft it goes right through her. And that fucking hurts more than anything. Because she realises that hurt is the norm and sometimes, in little glimmers, she thinks that maybe she doesn’t _actually_ deserve it all of the time. 

She feels the tears sting her eyes but blinks them back quickly and tries to push through it and keep going so as to not get caught up in it all, but he won’t let her. When she allows herself to look into his eyes for a moment, she can tell he recognises something in her because his whole body gets softer. “People say a lot of things.” He says. “It doesn’t make them true.” 

It’s stupid because of course she knows this. Of course she does. People say things all the time. But when they’re cruel things and when they’re said over and over, incessantly, every single day by some of the only people you socialise with… it’s hard not to let that get to you. 

“You’re a good person, Tessa.” He says, his hands relaxing on her hips and letting her sink down on him once more, this time slowly, gently. 

She feels the way he fills her up, and it feels psychological as much as it does physical. He fills up all the potholes in her mind. She wonders how he doesn’t get tired of doing it after all this time. Sometimes _she’s_ even the one digging them, and that must be frustrating for him, but he just goes about filling them all over again like it’s nothing. Sure, sometimes it’s hard, sometimes he makes the holes too, but he’s always there in the end filling them up. 

She trusts him as much as she trusts anyone in the world, and it _means_ something to her when the words come from him, whether she wants it to or not.

She pushes back up and lets herself ease back down, filling herself with him once more and sighing deeply at the feeling. He’s as deep as she can get him, in every sense.

His hands move to her breasts, cupping each of them possessively in his hands.

“It’s you and me, I got you.” He says, and his voice quivers as she rolls her hips, feeling the way his cock reacts inside of her. 

They’re moving so slowly now she can feel every inch of him as he fucks her and it makes her feel _real_. 

He sets his hands on her sides but without them holding her up, she feels boneless and falls forward, pressing herself flush against him, her hands going to his shoulders, nails digging into the skin there. She knows this part of him so well, knows how sturdy he is. She rests her head against his and feels his hand move to her back, the other in her hair, pulling just slightly. 

“You don’t have to be what people say.” He whispers as he thrusts his hips up to fuck her. She feels like he’s in her head. 

The way he’s moving now, rolling his hips, fucking her slowly, letting her grind against him, it makes her feel fuzzy, like she’s floating. She pictures herself suspended in time, nothing but fog and darkness around them, even the Michigan cold is sealed out by the shared heat they create. 

He starts to pick up the pace when he feels her relax slightly, gripping the hair at the base of her neck and Tessa grits her teeth at the feeling, her legs starting to quake. She wishes suddenly that they were laying down, she thinks that maybe she _would_ like to be in a bed. Maybe the real Tessa _would_ like that.

_It’s just hard when it feels like I’m supposed to be playing a role all the time._ She thinks in her head. But what she says aloud is, “Maybe I forget who I really am sometimes.”

Scott’s hips stutter and she hears him grunt softly as his hands tighten on her, but he stills himself and manages to still her too somehow. His hands move to her neck, fingers stroking her gently, curling slightly as they move upward and then flipping as he runs the back of them downward. It sends shivers down her spine. 

“I’ll remind you.” He says softly, his voice low. 

He eases her hips off of him, makes sure she has her balance, kneeling on either side of his legs before he reaches down between the seat and the door and pulls the lever that lowers it back. He helps her adjust her position, lays her down on the reclined seat like he’s actually heard her thoughts, and positions himself over her as she kicks her pants completely off. 

He looks somewhat apologetic now and she wishes he wouldn’t, but that’s Scott. They’re just barely into their twenties and he’s trying his best to shake the last remaining bits of his teens off, when being apologetic about car sex wouldn’t have crossed his mind. 

“Okay?” He asks, just as she’s finding herself feeling impatient, feeling like he’s only halfway filled the holes inside of her. She wishes she could do a better job of it herself, wishes she didn’t need to trouble him with all of that, and she hopes maybe that will come with age. 

So she nods and pulls at his hips, sees him smile that boyish smile, lick his lips, and lower his body against hers. 

His mouth goes straight to her chest, sucking gently at her skin, laving over the soft mounds of her breasts, up to her neck, the underside of her jaw, behind her ear. She lets out a frustrated breath, presses her hips to his, feels his cock, hard, hot, throbbing against her. 

He sits back and looks down at her for a moment as if he’s studying her. 

“I know you.” He says after a moment, ridding himself of his shirt finally, and reaching between them, finding the sensitive nub of her clit, stroking it carefully. 

She shuts her eyes, inhales sharply, her hands on his hips. He keeps stroking her there, slowly and surely because he _does_ know her, and he knows this makes her feel like she’s going to combust. 

“Scott.” She chokes, arching her back. He takes it as an invitation and leans down to suck one of her blushed nipples into his mouth, running his tongue in a circle around it as he slips two fingers inside of her, his thumb pressing on her clit. 

She moans unabashedly, opening her legs further, hearing how wet she is before she feels it as he pulls his fingers from her and presses them back in. She rolls her hips in time with the thrusts of his arm, lets his lips travel where they may - no matter where they end up she feels like she’s on fire. He does know her, better than she knows herself sometimes.

She can’t help the whimper that escapes her when he slips a third finger in. Her nails claw at his back and she hears the way it makes him moan. 

“Please.” She whispers, finally. “Please, please.” She feels her cheeks flush at how desperate she sounds, but it’s not _dirty_ , not in the way they talk about her at the rink. This is different. It feels so right that she can’t feel shameful about it, it’s bold and audacious and brazen in the best possible ways. Perhaps it’s lewd, but exquisitely so. Maybe it’s the fact that they don’t force it, that they fit together so perfectly it seems it would almost be a crime _not_ to join together the way they do. It’s carnal desire for sure, but when it’s accompanied by such psychological desire, a joining in every possible sense of the word, she can’t feel _wrong_ about it. It’s almost like something they’re meant to be doing. This is who she is with him and _only_ him. Maybe this is who she is _period_. She has a hard time believing it’ll ever be different. When they’re in the throes of it, when she can’t control herself, the way her body reacts to him, the way she whimpers and moans and rolls her hips and clenches around him, it’s the farthest from playing a role she’s ever felt. Nothing about it is fabricated. It’s all _so_ real. And real isn't dirty the way they talk about her at the rink, she realises. It isn’t. That’s not who she is. She sees it now. 

He curls his fingers and she then all she sees is stars behind her eyelids, her body quivering, her legs wrapped tightly around his hips. He slips his fingers from her and slides his cock in as she’s coming and it has her clinging to him as tightly as she can, shaking and moaning and purring when she feels him rock slowly against her. 

His body is coiled as tightly as he can stand, and she knows he’s close, because she knows him too, definitely better than she knows herself. And she knows he’ll make her come again before he does because it’s so fucking easy for him. _She’s_ so easy for him. And that’s okay. It’s who they are and nobody can take that from them and make it into something it’s not. 

She feels herself relax as she thinks it, as he fucks her apart, the wetness between her legs feeling warm and sticky and wonderful as he begins to drive into her harder. 

Her hands find their way back to his shoulders, her back arches once more. His breath is hot on her neck, then her lips as he kisses her. 

“Yes.” She hears herself sigh, and he continues up to her ear. “That’s it, T.” He whispers to her, his voice making her clench around him and _God,_ the way he moans makes her do it all over again. 

His hand skims up her body from her hip, over her breast, up to her neck where he holds her gently, his thumb stroking over the little divot in the centre. “They have no idea who you are.” He says, his breath hot on her ear. “But I know every part of you.” He thrusts up into her and hits that spot inside of her that she can’t ever quite seem to reach herself and it feels like a release in every sense of the word. She comes undone around him, feeling the waves of her orgasm overtake her powerfully, leaving her gasping for breath, clinging to him, her eyes shut so tightly she can see little flashes of light. She’s so open for him, her soul bared even when she tries to hide it, and it fills those stubborn holes that keep getting dug up. And then she hears the way he moans, like maybe she’s broken him, and she opens her eyes to see him as completely lost to her as she is to him. She sees him pushed over the edge, spilling himself into her, sees all of him in the way he sees her and thinks that maybe he can feel some of that too, that emotional _filling._

_Maybe she’s not just another fuck to him._

He grips her tightly as he helps her come down with him, just slow, shallow thrusts as they revel in the feel of their coupling. And then he presses perfunctory kiss to her cheek and when he’s regained his breath, he says roughly, “Be whoever _you_ want, T. I promise I’ll do my best to keep up.” 


End file.
